The Holiday From The Hellmouth
by nightmareXdoll22
Summary: John and Sherlock are invited to Sunnydale for what at first seems like a peaceful holiday. They quickly learn that things are never as they seem. Rated M for language and possible slash/smut later.
1. Goodbye, London

**This is it! Chapter one of my Sherlock/BtVS crossover. Hopefully, it earns good reviews like my Sherlock fanfic. I won't hold my breath though, just to be safe. :O Just a bit of info before you read: This is basically to take place the winter after Buffy died saving the world from Glory, except in my disturbed mind, Willow didn't bring her back, and now Dawn is under Spike's care and everyone aside from Giles, Anya and Xander live at the Summer's residence. Enough said. Now read.**

**As always, please R&R and I own nothing. Really. I don't. :P**

* * *

John sat at the desk staring at the blank page of his blog. It had been a rather quiet day. Sherlock sat on the sofa for a while, then left to see Lestrade and inquire about any open cases. When that turned up nothing, he returned and settled into his armchair to watch the telly for a bit. It was rainy and neither of them felt much up to going out that evening, so John decided to catch up on his blog a bit. There was little to report, and he wasn't sure where to begin writing about the boredom of the last week. He had gone shopping in the morning, and picked up a Christmas gift for Sherlock who, after only an hour, determined its hiding spot and had convinced John to let him open it early. It was a new riding crop and set of leather gloves, to replace the pair he'd ruined on the last case they were called for.

"John. Your phone." Sherlock's deep voice broke John's thoughts, and he realized his mobile was ringing in his pocket.

"Hello?" He spoke softly, as he walked out to the kitchen to avoid interrupting Sherlock's programme any further.

"John. Its Rupert. How are you?"

"Oh.. Rupert. Fine, fine. How's California treating you?"

"You'd wouldn't believe me if I told you. Look, I was hoping to talk with you about something. Is there any way you and your .. emm.. friend, would like to come to Sunnydale for holiday?"

"Oh, it would be nice," John replied, looking out at Sherlock who was cursing the game show host on the telly, then glancing at the rain-streaked windows. "I'm afraid we haven't the money for it right now though."

"That's no matter. I'll call ahead to reserve you both a seat on the next plane out. You don't mind do you?'

"Not at all. A change of scenery.. and pace.. would be lovely for Christmas. I've got to go let Sherlock know. Can you text me then, with the flight information?"

"Yes, that will be fine. Take care, John. See you soon!" The line went silent and John pocketed his phone.

"Sherlock. I have a surprise for you. Go pack."

"Not now, John. Can't you see-"

"Sherlock. Go PACK!" John shouted impatiently. He watched Sherlock's expression change from irritated to.. well, more irritated, as he stood and stomped off to his room. "Thank you." He called out, as he raced to his own room and flung open his wardrobe. As he stuffed his clothes and personal items into a suitcase, Sherlock appeared in the doorway with his suitcase in hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Its a surprise, I told you. Now go let Mrs Hudson know we'll be gone for a while, and I'll call when I know more."

"Is it a case? Oh, I do hope its a serial killer.. They're so much fun, all the suspense and waiting for him to make a mistake.. Is that it, John?"

"Surprise, Sherlock. What don't you understand about that?" John said over his shoulder, then heard Sherlock stalk off to see Mrs Hudson. Once done packing, John took their bags into the lounge and sat down on the sofa while he waited for Rupert to text him.

* * *

Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at a strand of John's hair through the microscope when John's phone beeped twice. John pulled it out and pressed a button, bringing up the new message.

_British Airways flight 7702E_

_London-Heathrow Gate A21_

_10:40 pm your time tonight. _

_Will meet you at the baggage claim when you arrive in L.A._

_R.G._

He glanced over at the clock. It was almost seven, leaving just about three and a half hours till their flight, meaning they needed to leave soon. John nudged Sherlock's elbow, then showed him the text, and walked out to the lounge. As they left the flat with luggage in tow, Sherlock gave one last look back over his shoulder, and sighed as he flipped off the light and shut the door. Once out on the pavement, John hailed a cab and loaded their luggage into the seat beside him as they climbed in.

"London Heathrow, please."

"John. L.A? Really? Who's R.G.?"

"An old friend. He's paid our way and has set up a place for us to stay while we're on holiday."

"So, not a case then. I'm already bored. I want to go home John."

"No, Sherlock. We've been sitting about in that flat for a week, and you've already destroyed another wall, the stereo, and set the shower curtain on fire. Twice. We need a holiday, far far away from Baker Street. Lestrade has nothing for you to do, and frankly, I'm sick and tired of cleaning up after your so-called 'experiments'. Can you just try to enjoy yourself? Please?" John gave him a desperate look that told Sherlock to just shut up and be thankful for the change of scenery. When they pulled up to the airport, John paid their fare, and Sherlock unloaded their bags onto a hand-trolley. They walked up to the ticketing desk, retrieved their tickets and made their way to the security check. John passed through the metal detector with no problems; Sherlock on the other hand, cause the machine to beep and screech wildly.

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask that you come with me." Said the security official. He escorted Sherlock to a small room with no windows and shut the door behind him. After about ten minutes, the door flung open and a very irate and embarrassed Sherlock emerged, followed by the security official, carrying a plastic bag containing a Zippo lighter, two folding knives and a pack of nicotine patches. John held out Sherlock's bag, and laughed as Sherlock snatched it away, stomping off down to their gate.

"Really, Sherlock. You didn't know lighters and knives aren't allowed?"

"Its not important. I can't believe that bastard confiscated my patches! Now what am I going to do? Huh, John? Tell me that. This was your stupid idea."

"They do have them in LA. Its not just a London thing, Sherlock. We'll pick some up when we land." John stifled another fit of laughter, settled into his seat and pulled out his laptop. He signed into his blog and began writing about the journey they were embarking upon, to the west coast of the States.

* * *

It was 10:15 when the first announcement came over the intercom system.

"_British Airways Flight 7702E now boarding at gate A22... British Airways Flight 7702E now boarding at gate A22..." _

"Sherlock.. Sherlock wake up. That's us. Come on." John stood up and stretched, then stuffed his laptop back into his carry-on as Sherlock picked up his own and headed towards the desk. John rushed ahead, and got into line, holding both their passports and boarding passes. Sherlock took his place beside John, and waited as the line slowly crept forward. Once at the desk, John presented the clerk with their documents, and after a few moments, took them back with fresh stamps on their passports. As they stepped into the plane, Sherlock bumped his head on an overhead compartment, earning a laugh and an 'are you okay?' from the attendant. He mumbled something inaudibly, waved her off and sat down in his seat.

"I hope they don't put on some stupid film.. None of that sappy, chick flick mess as you call it."

"Just relax, Sherlock. We'll be there in no time at all."

The intercom crackled and the attendant came on with an announcement.

"_Thank you for choosing British Airways. We will be taking off in a few minutes, so I'd like to go over some safety and emergency information..."_

"John. How long is this flight?"

"Umm.. Says we arrive at JFK around 1:45 am their time, then have a connecting flight to LAX at 3 am. So, we're going to be flying for.. awhile. Its like, 11 hours non-stop, but we have a layover for about an hour. Just.. quit asking so many questions!" John turned back to the window, trying to stop thinking about the maths involved in flying. He was beginning to confuse himself, and it was already late enough that he didn't want to care.

"John.."

"What?"

"Pass me your laptop."

"Why?"

"I refuse to let these people lower my IQ with such a film as '27 Dresses'. Now hand it over."

* * *

After hours of flying, and sitting at the Starbucks in JFK airport for an hour, then more flying, they finally landed in LA. They walked down to the baggage claim, where they saw an odd gang of what could be described by Sherlock only as "child-like fools". That gang, however, was their welcoming committee. John took his bag from the conveyor belt, and strutted over to Rupert, who gave him a brief hug before beginning the introductions.

"John, this is Anya, and the red head is Willow. Oh, and over there, with the flowers, that's Dawn. And Xander.. dear lord.. Where'd he wander to now? He turns into a two year old every time we come here. And this must be Sherlock Holmes." Rupert extended a hand to Sherlock, who reluctantly shook it as he scanned over the motley crew before him. "Its a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I'm Rupert Giles."

"Yes. I've never heard of you. Any of you, as a matter of fact. John, what is this? Are you holding an intervention? Is this about the skull?" Sherlock looked at John questioningly, as they started walking out of the airport. It was cool out, but comfortable. A nice change from the rainy, chilly weather back home. Anya and Willow climbed into Giles' car while Xander loaded the luggage into his own.

"John, you two will be riding with Xander and Dawn. We'll meet back at the house. I know you must be exhausted. See you then." Giles said matter-of-factly just before pulling out of the parking lot. John and Dawn slid into the back seat, allowing Sherlock to take the front seat since, according to Dawn, his legs were 'the longest legs ever' and thus required more space.

"Soo.. Sherlock. That's a neat name. Does it mean anything?" Dawn said cheerfully.

"Its just a name."

"Oh. Well.. So you're some kind of detective? That's pretty cool."

"I'm not just a detective. I'm the world's only consulting detective, not that it makes any difference in your tiny brain." He scoffed back, then leaned his head against the window as he watched the street lights pass overhead.

"My brain isn't.. tiny. It's average size.. Oh.. Xander, what if my brain isn't average size! You know, with the thing and the wonkiness with the monks..." Dawn pressed her hands to her head, as if to feel the size of her brain. John looked over at her puzzled expression and had to fight back a laugh. Xander shot her a 'don't-say-anything-about-that' look in the rear-view mirror, which Sherlock picked up on instantly.

"Let the child, speak. It could be very.. enlightening," Sherlock said in a mocking tone, whilst rolling his eyes at the thought of a teenage girl having anything remotely intelligent to say.

"Oh.. it's nothing. I.. umm.. was born in a monastery." Dawn lied, causing John and Sherlock to exchange equally amused looks.

"Erm.. Xander, right?" John mumbled, still trying to hold back a laugh. "How long is the drive to Sunnydale?"

"Maybe another hour and a half. Don't say you need to pee either, mister. The Xan-man stops for no pee." He replied, wagging his finger in the air to further the point. Dawn giggled uncontrollably at the statement, and Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes in disappointment.

"Brilliant bloody holiday.." Sherlock muttered to himself, as Dawn asked John to play the license plate game with her, -to which he reluctantly agreed- and she began explaining the rules.

* * *

**Ok, folks. Was it good enough to warrant another chapter? I hope so, since I spent like an hour researching the amount of time it takes to fly from LHR to LAX with a stopover at JFK.. whew.. that was a mouthfull! Oh, and according to Wiki, "Sunnydale" is said to be 2 hours from LA. So I did my research there too. I feel like an regular old Sherlock, being all smart-ness and stuff.. ok, maybe not even close, but you get the idea.**


	2. Sunnydale greetings and Spike

**Chapter two! Yay! Not really. LOL I hope it makes some kind of sense somehow. :P **

**As always, please R&R, and I don't own anything. Enjoy!**

* * *

Two hours and three stops at closed pharmacies just to 'double check that they're closed' later, they arrived at the Summer's residence. Dawn leapt from the car before it was even parked, and rushed to open the front door, then stood waiting for their guests to join her with their belongings in tow. As she ushered them into the living room, they were greeted by the others, and a new face as well. Willow stood up and gave friendly hugs to John and Sherlock, who accepted politely.

"This is Tara. Tara, these are John and Sherlock." Willow sat back down as Tara shook the men's hands and greeted them both.

Giles entered the room, cleaning his glasses and nearly walking into Sherlock. "Oh, pardon me, Sherlock. Here, let's get you two up to the guest room. Willow tidied up this afternoon, so its all ready for you." As they reached the top of the stairs, John broke the air of discomfort between him and Sherlock.

"Guest room?" He asked, emphasizing the 'room' part.

"Yes. I do apologize, John, but its all we've got. Hotels around here are booked solid for the next week, with Christmas being in three days." Giles opened the door on the right, and led them into a room with a tall wardrobe, and a king sized bed. In the corner was a desk with photos and teddy bears strewn across it. "This was Dawn's room, until Buffy.. She hasn't quite finished moving out. I'll let you to your unpacking." Giles left the room, closing the door behind him softly.

"I see.." John said, unamused at the concept of sharing a bed with the restless sociopath.

"Just stay on your side. I won't bite. Promise." Sherlock joked.

"I might." A new voice filled the room. It was masculine, and the accent screamed Cockney, but something was off about it. All of this only piqued Sherlock's curiosity, causing him to whip around where he found himself suddenly face to face with a pale, blonde haired man who's shocked and curious expression matched that of Sherlock. "What 'ave we here? Heard the nibblet on about some blokes from England. Must be you two.. good god, man. Definitely you!" Spike laughed, pointing at the grey and red pinstriped jumper John was wearing.

"Me? Yes.. Wait, what's wrong with the jumper?" John tugged at the fabric over his chest.

"Stick out like a sore thumb, you do. And you.. Pretty boy, aren't you?" Spike poked at Sherlock's curls, and they both leaned back examining each other thoroughly.

"And you look like a corpse. It's California. Where's your tan?"

"Like you're one to talk! Ooh.. I like you already. This is better than the paper hat in a cracker. Giles!" Spike exclaimed, dashing into the hall to go thank him for the new 'toys', as he would call them.

"Like looking in a fun house mirror?" John joked.

"Exactly.. except the hair. What's wrong with my hair, John?"

* * *

"Breakfast!" Willow screeched from the kitchen, just as Tara and Dawn galloped down the stairs. Sherlock had been up all morning, contemplating the odd man they'd met earlier. He was about the same height as him, and now he realized, nearly as pale. The long leather duster seemed to mock his own long wool overcoat, and his eerie personality was terrifying yet delightful at the same time. As he tossed the covers off himself and John -who against all protests, still managed to cross the centre line Sherlock had made with a body pillow- then left the room in search of the toilet. After putting more urgent matters to rest, and causing Xander to squeal like a little girl when he unexpectedly startled him at the top of the stairs, Sherlock went down to the dining room, where Willow was setting a platter of eggs out beside the sausages and bacon. "Full English. Well, sort of. I think. Giles was kind of busy so I googled." She strutted back into the kitchen as Sherlock took a seat, and returned moments later with a teapot and cream. "There ya go. Is John up yet?"

"Doubtful." He replied, pouring a cup of tea and scooping what he hoped was the eggs onto his plate. Dawn and Tara soon began the barrage of questions about him, John and their life in London.

"What do you guys have to do for fun?" Dawn said, still swallowing a massive bite of bacon.

"The morgue."

"The what?" Dawn said her eyes widening comically.

"The morgue. Where the dead people go. Rather interesting place." He said casually. As he reached for a slice of toast, John appeared and sat in the empty chair to his left. "John. Lovely. Please explain to the child how I have fun back home."

"Umm... right. Well, there's the cinema, and a few really great pubs-"

"Not you. Me."

"Oh. The morgue. And.. that's about it. Unless you count setting fire to every appliance in the flat and nearly getting himself killed just to see if he's smarter than a murderer. Nothing you'd care for. Pass the eggs, please."

"... If you can call them that." Sherlock watched Dawn and Tara's expressions fade from confusion and near fright to something more like amusement. Xander quietly took his seat at the head of the table, followed by Willow to his left.

"So. Consulting detective and army doctor... you live together? How's that going?"

"He's so.. bland." said Sherlock.

"He's totally off his rocker." John quipped back.

"Are you two.. you know.. an item?" Willow asked, grinning and reaching over to hold Tara's hand.

"Lord no!" John exclaimed swatting away Sherlock's hand. "Not an item. Not even close, thank you. Sherlock.. stop it." Sherlock let go of John's hand, and gave him the look. The look that said, 'please mum, can I play with that grizzly bear? I wonder what he'll do if it poke him!' The look that clearly meant he was about to become the constant subject of Sherlock's infuriating fake advances, just to see how much his dear friend can take. Thankfully, Spike appeared beside Xander just in time to take Sherlock's attention off John.

"Hello again, Sherlock. John.. Mornin' Nibblet. Breakfast?" Spike said cheerily, as Dawn motioned towards the kitchen.

"Fridge door." John and Sherlock glanced at the pale man, then at the teenager, then at each other in wonder.

"Instant shakes, is it? He looks like losing weight might kill him."

"One can only dream." Xander replied, as Willow kicked his shin under the table.

"What else, Xander? Why'd she kick you for that?" Sherlock could see that there was more to tell, and had to probe for answers. Spike reappeared in the archway from the kitchen, and fabricated a story, getting Xander off the hook.

"Protein shake. Adds muscle." Spike swigged his blood from the mug, making sure not to let any linger on his lips and be seen as he held up his free arm and flexed. "How bout this, Shirley. After breakfast. Basement. Have us a sparring match. Unless you're scared..." He mocked. Sherlock could feel his temper flare, and he stood from the table suddenly.

"How about now?" He said with a deep, intimidating tone. "John, get ready. This bloke hasn't the slightest what he's asking." Sherlock patted John's shoulder before following Spike to the basement. Willow chased after them, pleading that they stop being so macho.

"Like two tomcats fighting for territory, and you guys have only been in town, what? Six hours? This should be great." Dawn shook her head, as John shrugged and excused himself from the table to go monitor the fight brewing in the basement.

* * *

The two men stood in the middle of the dank, cement room and circled each other slowly. Sherlock took the first swing, which Spike deflected as he swung a leg out to throw Sherlock to the floor. The detective leapt over it, and smirked.

"Game is on now, blondie." He grumbled. The two went all out, kicking, punching, flipping each other to the ground over and over again. After almost an hour, they were both bruised, bleeding and gasping for breath on the floor.

"Damn good for a pretty boy."

"I'm not the one bleaching my hair, am I?"

"Nice comeback."

"Thanks." Sherlock stood, and reached out a hand to help Spike to his feet. John stepped over to the pair, holding a first aid kit and shaking his head in disbelief. As he started work on Sherlock's cuts and scrapes, he couldn't help but notice that the gash on Spike's arm had almost healed already.

"Thats.. umm.. some good protein in those shakes, huh?" He said, nodding to Spike's arm. There was but a scratch anymore, surrounded by drying blood- evidence that the wound had been much worse than it currently appeared. Sherlock looked over and noticed the same mark, and squinted slightly. His eyes lit up and he looked at Spike.

"Anywhere round here we can go for a drink?" he asked the blonde.

"Oh, yeah. Nice place a few blocks down.. Doesn't open till eight, though."

"Splendid. We'll go. Tonight. John, stay here and.. I don't know.. catch up with your friend or let the girls give you a makeover.. Whatever you feel inclined to do. I think this one and I should have a chat." Sherlock walked upstairs and out of the basement. It was nearly noon, so he had eight hours to wait, and was dying for a smoke. _The blonde one smokes. Could smell it on him.. _He turned around, and rushed back to the basement where he found Spike sitting on a cot, holding his head in his palms. "Have a smoke?" Spike looked up, and reached for his duster. Sherlock sat on the other end of the cot as Spike handed him a cigarette and his Zippo. "I had one like this.. Bloody airport security took it. Bastards."

"Yeah." Spike nodded, still holding his head.

Sherlock stared over at him, wondering what the problem was. Then he decided to sat the three words that hardly crossed his lips. "Sorry bout that."

"Oh. My head? No. Not you. Just a headache.. from the protein. Drank that damn shake too fast." Spike lit a cigarette for himself, then leaned against the wall behind them. Sherlock could feel the rush of nicotine making him dizzy already. It had been months since he'd started the patches, and the taste and feel of a good cigarette made his head spin. Spike stood and started walking about, then stopped suddenly.

"So are you one of those bloody watcher boys? Sent 'ere to keep an eye on ol' Spike now that the Slayer's gone?"

"No. What are you on about?"

"Nothing.. nothing then. Right." Spike realized that the detective had no knowledge of the watcher's council or the slayer, and quickly changed the subject. "How's the queen?"

"Fine, I suppose."

"Good.. good... Never liked her much.. So stuffy, she is."

"I wouldn't know. Nor do I care. That's not my area. And I would think you couldn't give a damn less about the Queen."

"Really? I heard about this. You take one look at someone and can tell their life story. Go on. What's mine?" Spike crushed out his cigarette, then leaned against the stairwell opposite the cot.

"Your accent is quite East End, but has a touch of something else. Something more refined underneath. Thus you weren't raised in the East End but rather moved there later in life. Your boots and duster are well worn, and considering the amount of black on you, I would think it safe to bet you're one of those rebel types. You smoke, but the way you can keep up in a fight would make one think otherwise. You're an only child, and both parents are either dead or don't care to speak to you anymore because of your aversion to normal society. Which of course is obvious from your nail polish and lack of sun. When you speak to the girl.. Dawn.. You speak to her as though she means something to you, yet you speak to others like they're a mere nuisance. She's far younger than you, and doesn't have that look to her eyes, so I know there's nothing sexual about it. Its almost a father-daughter relationship, you look after her out of love. But she's not your daughter, since she calls you by name. You have a fear of rejection that has deep roots in your past, and the attention Dawn gives you eases is. Was the rejection parental or romantic? Well, you're giving that away right now with your defensive posture and hurt yet shameful look. It tells me both are true in ways. Someone you cared for dearly and wished to marry turned you away, that's the hurt. The shame, well that with the defensive posture means mother. You'd defend her with your life, yet you weren't the man she'd hoped you'd become and thus, she rejected you, telling you off for not making her proud. But you still love her, despite that, and still feel you let her down every time you take a breath. Which.. you're not doing. Don't hold your breath, you twit. Spike?" Sherlock cocked his head sideways as he watched Spike start pacing again, paying close attention to his chest and the sounds in the room. The only sounds were his own breathing and heartbeat, and Spike's boots scuffing and clapping against the floor as he walked. Sherlock held back the urge to mention it further, still trying to figure it out on his own.

"Very good, Sherlock.. Very good. You've got me. I'm just a psychopathic ol' mummy's boy that can't get a girl. You missed the best part, though." Before Sherlock could respond, Spike was in his face, his eyes glowing yellow and a giant fangy grin crossing his face. "I don't have a life to defend Dawn with." He snarled softly, and waited for Sherlock's reaction. When his snarls didn't illicit a scream or at the least a gasp from him, Spike leaned in as though to bite Sherlock. This also yielded no response. "Bloody hell, man. Nothing? Not even a 'please, no'?" Spike stepped back, and his face contorted back to normal as Sherlock watched in a daze of excitement.

* * *

John and Tara were sitting on the couch talking about London and places he should see while in California when the front door opened and Giles walked into the room.

"Rupert. Alright?"

"Yes, thanks. Would you like to go for dinner with me John? Catch up a bit?"

"Sounds great. Let me just get my jacket and let Sherlock know."

"Oh, you go ahead. I'll let him know. Where is he anyways?" Tara asked shyly.

"Oh. Thanks. He's in the basement with Spike.. What's with the name, anyway?" John replied.

"I'll explain over dinner, and you'll hardly need your jacket. The jumper is quite enough."

"Right. Lets go then." John waved goodbye to Tara and followed Giles outside. "Why do they all call you by Giles? Don't they use your first name?"

"Oh, no. I was the high school librarian when I met them, so they called me Mister Giles then. They've outgrown the Mister part. Sometimes I wonder how they outgrew anything, honestly." Giles sank in behind the steering wheel and started the car. As they left the drive way, Giles glanced over at John with a serious expression. "The council needs you back. We have trouble..."

* * *

*** Back in the basement ***

"Hardly. How'd you do that?" Sherlock stood and stepped up to Spike, reaching out to touch his face, hoping to learn how he could cause the bone in his forehead to shift in such a way. Before his fingers could make contact, Spike had a hold on his wrist and was nearly nose to nose with him. Spike's eyes narrowed, and he slowly let his demon emerge, his face shifting and moulding slowly. Sherlock took in every detail of the transformation, every slight bump and groove to his brow, his eyes slipping from their natural soft blue to the cat-like yellow. Spike took Sherlock's hand and held it up, releasing it to allow him to feel his brow and fangs. Sherlock explored the vampire's face, trying to understand this unique ability, but falling short of grasping an explanation of all fact involved. His mind raced, a million questions beginning to cloud his thinking. "How do you do that? Amazing.. Does it hurt? No..no.. stupid question. Have you always been able to do that? What makes the change occur?" Sherlock continued asking questions, while Spike sat back on the cot and laughed.

"I'll explain it all over drinks. Bar opens in about an hour. An' why aren't you scared? Aren't I scary?"

"I don't get scared. It's not you, really. It's me." Sherlock patted the vampire's shoulder and reached for the pack of cigarettes between them on the cot.

* * *

**So, what did you think? Let me know if I should continue or not. **


	3. What They Didn't Tell You

**Chapter three. Yay. I am so exhausted from Thanksgiving, so this is the only chapter I'll be doing tonight. Hope its good!**

**As always, R&R, and I own nothing.**

* * *

Giles' car pulled into the parking lot outside the diner just before eight. He and John went inside where they were seated at a corner booth at the back wall. After ordering, the waitress brought their drinks and left them to their discussion.

"John, we need your help. I understand your reasons for leaving the Council, I really do. But you must come back, for god's sake man. This town is centred over the Hellmouth! Our Slayer is dead, and from what I've translated so far, there's an apocalypse coming. We need all the help we can get." Giles removed his glasses again, speaking softly so not to call attention to what he was telling his old friend. John sighed, and sat back as he sipped his drink, thinking over what he was being asked. He'd left the Council years ago, just before being called for duty in Afghanistan. It was a hard choice to leave the job he'd been raised to do, but it was a choice he knew he'd have to make. The Council had long been on a downward spiral, and the line between good and evil was becoming far too blurred for his liking. They had accepted his resignation quite gracefully, and he swore he'd never speak of nor return to his duties so long as he lived. He leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of the table and looked Giles in the eyes.

"I can't, Rupert. You know how I feel about it."

"Yes, you can, John. You must. Things have gotten worse and we need you, don't you see?"

"I.. Let me think on it." John sat back just as their meal arrived. He knew he'd end up saying yes. It was an impending apocalyse and the Hellmouth was without a Slayer. The world was depending on his decision, and he could see it in Giles' face. Fear, frustration and hurt flashed in the Watcher's eyes, and John knew he'd have to help. He couldn't let his dear colleague face this alone. As they ate, he thought it over and told himself they'd talk more on the way back to the house.

* * *

"Ready, mate?" Spike called up the stairs. It was just past eight and Sherlock still hadn't come down. He'd insisted on a shower before going out to the Bronze, so Spike waited as patiently as he could. But he'd run out of patience about five minutes after Sherlock went upstairs, and so began pacing at the bottom of the steps, bellowing for him to hurry up. Sherlock emerged at the stop of the steps, freshly bathed and wearing a clean suit. "What are you, James Bond? You don't have to get all gussied up for me, you know." Spike joked as they left the house, letting a note behind for John. As they walked through town and towards the Bronze, a dark-haired, scantily clad female vampire approached. Spike stopped and turned his head her way, glaring at her so to let her know that his companion was not going to be anyone's meal. She backed off slowly, her hands up in surrender, and they two continued on their way.

"Tell me about the girl. Dawn. Xander hushed her when she was talking in the car, and I know there's something going on here. She's what, fourteen or fifteen, and yet she hangs around with the likes of you. She's wise beyond her years, but plays dumb to set the others at ease, and I know she's got a load of suppressed anger and hurt that she only tells you about. That's why you're so close, she confides in you when the others haven't any interest in listening. What else?" Sherlock glanced over at Spike with a knowing look.

"There's a lot no one told you. Here we are. Let's go get a drink first. I'm parched." Spike showed him into the Bronze, and Spike took off to the bar to get their drinks while Sherlock sat at the table, observing the scene around him. Teens and young adults dancing, young men playing pool and couples making out in the dark corners. Spike returned with their drinks, and sat across from him. "There. Now, let's talk." Spike began explaining that he'd overheard Giles and Willow discussion about John before he'd called, how the doctor was a member of the Watcher's council before the war. He told Sherlock about the Slayer, and vampires, and the Hellmouth. Once he'd explained the coming apocalypse, and that without John's help they'd be fighting a losing battle for sure, Sherlock leaned back and stared at him. Sherlock sat silently, allowing all of the information he'd been given absorb a little, before speaking.

"You're a vampire. Giles is a Watcher, the red head is a Witch along with her girlfriend, Anya is an ex-demon and the Slayer is dead. And Xander? Dawn?"

"Well, nancy-boy is human and he's just.. well, he doesn't do much but scream like a girl and faint. And Dawn, she's something... amazing. There's this energy. The Key. Its older than the earth and some Monks created her from it, to keep Glory's filthy mitts off it. That's how Buffy died. Saving Dawn and the world from Glory." Spike lit a cigarette and offered one to Sherlock who gladly took it. They sat silent for a moment, then Sherlock began laughing. "What? What's so funny, huh? Think I'm making this up? Then explain my face, why don't ya?" Spike glared at him, causing Sherlock to calm down and become rather serious again.

"I believe you. I do. I just can't see John knowing a damn thing about any of this. Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I heard the two talking! I'm sure as can be." Spike sat back, crossing his arms in defence. Sherlock pulled his mobile from his pocket, and began tapping away at the keys.

_John_

_Watcher? Key? Vampires?_

_S.H_

He put his phone on the table, knowing he'd get a response shortly. John was so reliable like that, and soon enough the phone buzzed.

_Yes. Who told you? Where _

_are you?_

_J.W_

Sherlock started typing out his reply when he felt someone staring over his shoulder. He looked back and found Spike peeking at the screen in his hands. "Can I help you?" He muttered to Spike. Spike returned to his seat and went back to his drink.

_Spike. Told me everything. _

_Come to the Bronze at once. _

_Must speak to you. _

_S.H_

He returned the phone to the table, and when there was no reply to his message, he knew John was on his way. He sipped his drink, watching the band on the stage set up to perform. After a bit, he heard footsteps approaching, and from the slight difference in pace between each step, he knew they belonged to John. He stood, greeting John and pulling a chair over for him. Once seated, he turned to John and told him everything Spike had said. Spike sat silently, nodding to confirm what the detective was saying and occasionally correcting him. The three fell silent, then John ran his fingers through his hair as he started filling in the blanks.

"Rupert and I met nearly fifteen years ago. We were both new to the Watcher's Council, and had become good friends before he left England to come here. We've kept contact, even though I quit the Council just before the war. He needs me to help with some things here, and I think you could be a help too, Sherlock. You know so many martial arts, we believe you could be a great asset to the fight they're preparing for." John leaned back in his seat, waiting for Sherlock to protest being involved in such 'non-sense'.

"When do we start?" Sherlock said, smiling at the thought of a good battle to brighten his holiday. His words didn't surprise John in the least, but weren't fully expected. John searched for a reply, but was saved by Spike who spoke up first.

"Patrol. You can join me for patrol tonight."

"That makes no sense. Why would you be out patrolling if you're a vampire?" Sherlock was mildly confused but intrigued by the idea of a vampire killing his own kind.

"Because I'm not like them. I'm.. " Spike tried to explain but was cut off by John.

"He's neutered, in a sense. Won't kill humans and can't even hurt them without the chip in his head firing off. Gets off on hunting vamps now. All he can do really." John snickered.

"Piss off, doc. I'm still the big bad.. I fought this one, didn't I? So much for that bloody chip. Well, Sherlock? Coming along?" Spike stood and motioned for him to follow.

"Wait! How do I get back to the house?" John called. His phone beeped and he saw he had another text from Sherlock.

_Call Giles. _

_See you later._

_S.H_

"Very nice, Sherlock. Just take off with the bastard and let me here.. Like always." John muttered as he called Giles' number and asked for a ride.


	4. Bedtime Stories

**This chapter is pretty short, so my apologies. But I needed to get this written before it drove me nuts. It was like, John was just sitting on my desk flailing his arms about going "Write more about meeeee!" So I felt it was necessary. Just read it. My eye hurts from staring at the damn computer screen. o.O - What my eyes currently say is 'BED TIME!' and 'ouch...' XD**

* * *

Spike led Sherlock into the cemetery and went over the basics of staying alive whilst on patrol. Sherlock listened intently, his eyes scanning the area as Spike's words sank in.

"Right. And.. oh, yeah. Don't get bit. As long as you keep an eye out and aim for the heart, you should be just fine. No fancy stuff either. Get killed that way. Slayer.. I mean, Buffy almost got killed like that once. So.. John, eh? Didn't peg him as you type." Spike laughed a little, just as Sherlock stopped and turned to him.

"We aren't like that actually. Not in the least."

"Oh, right. I see. Just pals. Right. Sorry, mate."

"Fine then. Just shut up. I need to think."

"Slaying isn't thinking. Its feeling and doing. Its not a thought process, just instinct and action. Get it? And who're you tellin' me to shut up?"

"Damn it, man. Stop talking!" Sherlock looked to his right suddenly where he saw a shadow move behind a large, ornate tombstone. He dashed over and raised the stake, only to find it was a stray cat wandering about. "Oh. Not a vampire." He said to himself, just as he felt someone step up behind him. Spike was still wandering about a few yards off when he heard a loud growl, followed by some kind of odd battle cry, then grunting. He rushed over to where Sherlock was fighting off a big, biker vampire and leaned against the tombstone behind them. As the battle raged, Spike lit a cigarette and smirked, remembering how they'd fought in the basement. He knew Sherlock could handle himself, and was going to let him prove it. It lasted a few minutes, then Sherlock managed to get behind the vamp and push the stake into his back, piercing his heart and turning him to a mess of dust.

"Good show. Good. I knew you could do it." Spike clapped sarcastically and approached Sherlock who was huffing and brushing the dust off his pants.

"Thanks for jumping in to lend a hand there."

"Oh, its nothing, really. Hardly had to lift a finger." Spike offered a cigarette, but Sherlock declined and retrieved his stake from the ground where it had landed. They walked off further into the dark, Spike still joking about John, and Sherlock trying to ignore him.

"Will you just shut up already? I'll stake you. Don't go thinking I won't."

* * *

Giles' car pulled into the drive and the engine shut off. He and John climbed out of the front seat, going over all that Giles had learned of this impending apocalypse. It was going to be a blood bath by all accounts, and he feared that even with the help of John and Sherlock, they might fail. The two walked into the house and to the kitchen where Dawn sat munching on a rice krispie treat. She stood and stuffed the last huge bite into her mouth, then went about fixing a pot of tea for the three of them. As she sat back down waiting for the water to boil, John turned to her and smiled.

"Dawn.. Spike or Sherlock back yet?" He asked curiously as the kettle began to whistle on the stove.

"Um.. no. But Willow and Tara are upstairs and Xander went to talk to Anya alone. I think they might be.. you know.. like, getting jiggy.. but naked." Dawn beamed at the thought of Xander and Anya, and the way they always looked at each other. They had that starstruck look in their eyes, and even though things weren't always perfect, they still cared for each other so much it made her-

"Getting jiggy?" John said, interrupting the teens train of thought. He looked to Giles for an answer, but all Giles could offer was a brief 'Oh, dear Lord..' followed by the removal of his glasses.

"Getting jiggy.. You know, and.. but, naked? You know.. You must know.. You're so.. You're old!" Dawn exclaimed, the lack of words frustrating her as she tried desperately to get John to understand what she meant.

"I'm what? Old? Oh, that's just.. Rubbish.. Rupert here, now he's old. Would you believe this one here took me to my first-"

"That's quite enough about me, John. The girl doesn't care to know of our wild days. Surely not that part." Giles took his cup of tea from Dawn and made his way out to the living room and turned on the evening news. John stayed behind in the kitchen with Dawn, who offered him a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, insisting it was great with tea. He obliged her, and found himself rather surprised by the sandwich and its wonderfully fluffy, gooey peanut goodness.

"So? What about your wild days? Did you go see the Beatles and stuff? I think they're sort of boring, but I guess that was cool back then, huh?"

"The Beatles?" John exclaimed, choking down a bit of sandwich. "I wasn't even born yet! No, you wouldn't really care to hear about it. Its rather.. dreary and stupid, really. Not meant for such young ears, either."

"Everyone always does that. They're all, 'Oh, she's too young to know.' And 'Oh, we weren't saying anything, Dawnie!' Can't one adult under this roof just talk to me for once? I'm not a baby! I'm in high school! I know.. things.. and stuff about things.. And I heard Tara and Willow the other night, so .. yeah. I really just said that, huh?" Dawn smiled sheepishly, and John sighed knowing the girl had a point. If she felt she wanted to be seen as a young adult and included in such discussions, so be it. John sat on the stool at the island counter and began to recount the tales of years past, him and Giles' party sprees and being reprimanded for not showing up to Council meetings because of hangovers. He told her bits and pieces about the string of girls in his hay-day, and their little experiments with drugs. When he started into the part about their first summoning ritual-gone-awry, Giles emerged from the living room and interrupted just before the story got good. "Giles! He was just getting to the best part! And you.. you dirty dog, you! Siouxie Sioux? Was she hot? That name just screams hot.."

"Yes, I'm afraid I went through a groupie phase. Now, off to bed with you. School tomorrow, regardless of how good the story may be." He kissed her on the forehead as he passed her, taking his cup to the sink.

"Fine. Night, Giles. Night, John." She walked over to John and hugged him, squeezing the air out of his lungs a little, but he returned the show of affection and wrapped his arms around the tall, thin teenager. She whispered a quick thank you, and bounded off to her room to get ready for bed, passing Spike and Sherlock on her way to the stairs. "Hey Spike. Sherlock. Night guys!"

"G'night, Bit. Sweet dreams love." Spike called to her as he shut the front door and wandered out to the kitchen, a very dusty, filthy and sore Sherlock in tow.

* * *

**Well? How did you like this part? I felt the need (Damn imaginary!John..) to expand a bit on John here, and let him gain a new ally just like Sherlock found in Spike. Only fair, right? Sherlock befriends the vampire, John befriends the teen who feels left out.. Yeah, there's not much difference there. :P Please make imaginary!John shut up, and send some reviews and let me know what you think. Does the bond between Dawn and John surprise you? Does Giles being a Siouxie and The Banshees groupie make your day? I know I like it. :D**


	5. Fool's Gold

**Sorry for taking so long to get this one out. Had a busy last week or so, coupled with the slight case of writer's block. Anyway, the story continues! As always, please R&R and I don't own anything but the plot. **

**

* * *

**

"So, let me get this straight. You killed four vampires, one slimy green demon, and walked in on a couple snogging in a crypt? How lovely." John muttered as he crawled into bed. Sherlock had added a spare blanket to the wall separating them in the bed, which was now taking up a good chunk of John's side. He shoved the makeshift wall over towards Sherlock, who grunted as he forced it back into place. This went on for a few minutes, until John who was now rather frustrated and feeling defeated, grabbed the blanket and body pillow, then tossed them to the floor at the foot of the bed. He looked over at Sherlock triumphantly, then flopped back down and turned to his side. "You stay on your side, I stay on mine. No more walls. And if, heaven forbid, we wake up... in any odd configurations... Best not even think about that. Clear?"

"Crystal. Goodnight." Sherlock faced away from John, and closed his eyes, hoping sleep would come quickly and save him from this awkward situation. Unfortunately, he lay there wide awake for nearly an hour, when he began thinking about their sleeping arrangement. _Why is this weird? Two grown men, innocently sharing a bed. Its not like we're together.. or cuddling. What is the problem with cuddling, anyway? Friends can cuddle, right? Its like hugging, but more drawn out is all. And I've hugged John before. He's hugged me.. I wonder.. No, no. He'd be furious. Maybe.. Just for a minute. _Sherlock reasoned with himself for a few moments, then slowly scooted across the bed and beside John who was still very much asleep. He slowly rested his head on John's shoulder and put his arm across the smaller man's chest, then closed his eyes. _Cuddling.. This isn't bad. Why is this bad? Rather comfortable, really, and would likely be a great way to keep warm if in some kind of emergency.. Like if the heat goes out.. Very comfortable.. so tired.. _

* * *

"Oh, look at that! How cute, all snuggled up together. Almost look made for each other!" Spike laughed, as his voice woke John and Sherlock suddenly. The two looked at each other, and Sherlock quietly wiped a bit of his drool from John's pyjama top. "Oh.. Oh-ho-ho... That's priceless." Spike shook his head, still laughing as John took his pillow and threw it at the vampire.

"Out! Now!" John roared, digging his elbow into Sherlock's side to push him away. "And you! I thought we had an agreement! Your side," John pointed to Sherlock. "MY side!" He pointed to the part of his side that Sherlock's leg and arm still occupied. He tossed the blankets off of himself, then stormed out to the bathroom.

"And a good morning to you too!" Spike called from the hallway mockingly, as John slammed the bathroom door behind him. He walked back into the bedroom, where Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed. The still-sleepy Sherlock looked over at the bleach-blonde vampire, then shook his head and stood up to walk out. Spike stopped him at the doorway, holding his arm tightly. "I was only kidding. You know that, right?"

"Hmm.." Sherlock grunted, becoming rapidly annoyed by Spike's morning intrusions. "I might even explain that to John if you'd kindly stop the wake-up calls. Now move."

"Fine then. Oh, and Red's got breakfast on, she said to let you know. But I'd go easy on the pancakes if I was you. Oh, and do me a favour.. Have a chat with Dawn later, okay? Sat up all bloody night trying to get out of answering questions 'bout jolly old England," Spike mocked. "Been so damn long, hell if I know what to tell her!"

"Perhaps. Now let me go." Sherlock pushed past Spike suddenly and disappeared down the stairs.

"Hey! I wasn't done talking- Oh bugger... What now?"

"Spike. Don't you have something.. not-so-evil to do?" Xander said as John emerged from the bathroom beside the two men. "Hey there, Doc. Sleep well?"

"Oh, how funny! Just hilarious! What, Spike tell you all about finding Sherlock snuggled up to me earlier? Huh? Something you'd like to say about it? For the millionth time, WE ARE NOT A COUPLE!" John clenched his fists, then stomped off into the bedroom, slamming the door.

"Snuggling? All I asked was if he slept okay... That bed was always kinda lumpy.."

"I know.. He's a bit touchy today. Must be that time of month... Best just let him be for now..." Spike patted Xander's shoulder, then smirked and wandered off to the kitchen.

* * *

After a rather rough start, John's day slowly and steadily improved- for a while. Tara had asked him if he'd like to help her at the Magic Box, to which he enthusiastically agreed. She was the only one in the group thus far, aside from Dawn and Rupert, who had seemed quite level headed and sane.. Or whatever the equivalent of sane is in Sunnydale. Even though she was a Witch, John took comfort in knowing she wasn't a vampire or an ex-vengeance demon, or a strangely immature carpenter. As the two walked into the Magic Box, John was taken aback at the countless books lining each wall, and the beautiful, rare and precious gems and artifacts in glass display cases. He was very much at home in the small shop, and when handed a clipboard with an inventory sheet and pen, John excitedly took to cataloguing each ancient text, spell book and historical record on his list; most of which, he read a few pages of before moving onto the next item on the sheet. He was nearly through the first list, when the bell over the door rang, and Sherlock stepped inside. The detective closed the door and wandered about, studying the herbs in jars and crystals in their bins, before settling his attention on John. He strutted over to the table, and took a seat beside the older man. John snapped shut the 'Ultimate Encyclopedia of Healing Herbs' and slid it aside, giving Sherlock his full attention.

"John."

"Sherlock?"

"Sorry. About this morning." Sherlock shifted slightly in his seat anxiously. He rarely apologized for something so trivial, but his friendship to John was worth it to him. "It was just.. Well, there's such stigma surrounding this idea of us sharing a bed, and I was trying to determine for myself whether it is relevant or not to our situation."

"Which is?" John crossed his arms, and was obviously becoming rather annoyed. He was still upset that Sherlock had had the audacity and nerve to _cuddle _him, and what's more, to do so when a certain obnoxious vampire made daily, unwanted visits to their room.

"Look. We're friends. We have to share the bed as there are limited other possible sleeping arrangements available, unless one of us would want to kip in the tub. And quite frankly, it was rather comfortable and warm sleeping with... John... John?" Sherlock could instantly tell by the look on his friend's face that he was about to berated for what he'd done. He braced himself, and fell silent, allowing John to vent, uninterrupted.

"What gives you the right to do that without my consent? Who ever said I wanted you to cuddle me, huh? I surely didn't! I mean, really Sherlock.. You're the one who created that damn divider which, by the way, took up far too much of my side to begin with! Leave me, please. Just go. We'll talk, but right now... I can't hardly stand to look at you!" John stood suddenly, causing his chair to tip over backwards and hit the floor with a loud thud. He stalked off to the back room, leaving Tara at the counter looking utterly confused, and Sherlock staring at the empty space where his friend had just been sitting. As he stood, Sherlock turned and nodded to Tara, then left the shop as a terrible sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach.

* * *

It was now only three days until Christmas Eve, and as of yet, there was not one sign of the apocalypse Giles had been so convinced was about to occur. Over the past week since John and Sherlock's spat, their days were spent listening to tales about Buffy and a fellow called Angel, and their nights spent patrolling the cemeteries. John had grown quite fond of Dawn after their chat that second night, and he had taken to helping her with homework after dinner each evening. Sherlock and Spike spent what everyone thought was 'far-too-much' time together, sparring and training in the basement. As John sat at the table, looking over Dawn's algebra II assignment, he began to wonder if maybe they were growing apart. He thought for a moment, and realized the only times he actually saw or spoke to Sherlock any more were breakfast, dinner and bedtime, the third becoming much less often since their dreadful argument. Sherlock had begun patrolling with Spike until the very early hours of the morning, when he would return and crawl into bed silently, keeping a great distance from the doctor. It had come to the point that John had feared deep down- the point at which he and Sherlock were losing their bond that made them such great friends, and he couldn't help but think it was truly his fault. He'd overreacted to Sherlock's natural curiosity, and now more than ever, he'd gladly welcome it, just to have that warm, light-heartedness between them again. John felt a slight stinging behind his eyes, and suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as he realized he was nearing tears. He cleared his throat just as the urge to sob welled up inside him, and quickly looked down at the notebook in his hands, the equations and formulas scribbled in tiny, girlish writing no longer making any sense to him.

"Yes. Looks good, Dawn. Very good." He set the notebook down and stood up, barely hearing Dawn asking if he was alright. He marched out of the dining room, and towards the basement just as the door swung open before him. Sherlock stood at the top of the steps, still holding the doorknob, as John stared up into the detective's deep blue, penetrating eyes. Their gaze locked and seemed to freeze them in place for what could have been hours, by John's account. The tawny-haired, nerve-racked doctor slowly looked away and noticed himself trembling slightly, then tried to steady himself before Sherlock noticed. He was too late.

"Feeling okay, John? You're shaking." Sherlock said in a deep, husky tone as he noticed the redness in John's eyes and his slightly laboured breathing.

"You.. uh. Startled me, is all. Gave me a scare, what with opening the door so suddenly."

"How else does one open a door? What were you doing there, any way?"

"Me? Oh, well. I just was.. going to come down there. Dawn. She wanted a umm.. a.."

"I asked him to see if Buffy's old algebra binder was still packed away down there. Notes, you know, hers might be helpful... Maybe." Dawn squeaked from behind John, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "Its okay though. I'll go look myself. Tomorrow. Boy, am I tired.." Dawn faked a yawn, then stretched and gave John a quick hug. "I'm going to bed. Still proofreading that English paper for me tomorrow, right?"

"Yes. Tomorrow. Good night." John patted her shoulder as she turned and hurried to the stairs and up into her room.

"Good save. Make sure you thank her for that, John. Now why were you really coming to the basement?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, and John knew instantly that the tall, thin man already had the answer.

"It's just.. bloody hell.. Sherlock, I miss you. Ever since.. our disagreement," John said softly, "You've been busying yourself with Spike and I've been with Dawn and Rupert. We hardly speak! Its.. I just. It's difficult, you know? To feel like I'm losing my dearest friend. I'm sorry." John's voice trailed off as Sherlock's expression faded from one of near-amusement into something more melancholy.

"I know. As am I." Sherlock sighed, and he turned towards the stairs. "Spike," He called. "I'm off to bed. Think I may have caught something. Achoo! Ahem-ack-arghhh. Yes, oh! I feel awful! Completely knackered. See you at breakfast!" Sherlock stepped beside John and shut the door, then turned to his friend and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Come on, John. Oreo's or popcorn?"

* * *

Once settled up in the guest bedroom which had become their home away from home, John and Sherlock sat on the bed, the blue glow from the TV set illuminating the room. John snickered at the comedian who was flapping his arms wildly like a caught bird, while Sherlock booed and tossed an Oreo at the screen. The two fell silent, just as they heard something outside the window. It was a sudden tap, then a scraping noise which startled them both. John braced his nerves quickly, slowly rose from the bed and pulled a stake from under the mattress, then tip-toed towards the sound.

"Stay there," He whispered to Sherlock, who nodded although he was still creeping towards the window himself. As he slid back the curtains, all that met John was darkness and the shadow of a tall oak tree, swaying softly with the breeze. He reached up and turned the lock, then slid open the window and peered out over the awning. Nothing. It was dead silent, and John shuddered as a strange fear crept up his spine. His mind shot into overdrive, trying to remember what demons and other mystical beings could shape shift into a light breeze or something otherwise just as innocent and unnoticed. Just as he was reaching to close the window up again, he felt Sherlock's warm breath on his shoulder, which sent not a wave of fear, but of something entirely different, through his body, which he immediately dismissed as merely a chill from the night air. As John shivered again, Sherlock leaned against him, peering out the open window. He craned his neck out and looked left to right, squinting into the near pitch-black night when something caught his eye. Suddenly, Sherlock nudged past John, and crawled out onto the awning, reaching down towards the rain spout. His fingers stretched, and he slipped a little just as he grasped onto the object, then began to crawl back towards John. Once safely inside the room again, Sherlock paced at the foot of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and staring down at the small trinket in his palm. John secured the window and rushed over, eager to see what Sherlock had discovered. He peered at the detective's hand, and saw a small golden stone, polished and glistening in the bluish light. It captivated him, and as he stared at it, it seemed to move. The soldier in him swore it had to be a trick of the light, as if it had really moved, he reasoned, Sherlock would have inevitably shown some reaction to it. The Watcher in him wanted to run the other way and head straight to the Magic Box and start researching. But they both stood equally still, seemingly lost in thought as each of them studied the object. At last, Sherlock tossed it up in the air and caught it, then wandered over to the door and left for the living room. John stood silent, wanting to call after him, but seemingly unable. By the time John regained his ability to move, Sherlock had already placed the golden stone on the mantle, among a few other small gold, silver and wood knick-knacks, and had made his way back into the upstairs hall. He met John just short of Dawn's room, where he hushed him then gestured back to their own quarters. Once inside, John shut the door softly behind him and crawled into bed without a word, as Sherlock shut off the TV and slipped under the covers as well. They were both suddenly overcome by sleep, before either had the chance to mention the strange feeling that the peculiar object had given them both, and that neither would remember.

* * *

Whilst John and Sherlock lay sleeping soundly upstairs, a dark figure stood at the base of the old oak tree, and giggled softly into the wind. "Sleep now, Miss Edith, Mummy's work is done.. Happy Christmas, children.." The figure turned towards the street and a swift breeze caused her white gown to flare dramatically behind her, as the strange visitor danced her way towards the cemetery, cradling an eyeless, blonde doll in her thin, pale arms.

* * *

**So, this one took a twist.. And I think we all know who the 'figure' under the oak tree is... Oh, yes.. *evil laughter* XD **


	6. Disarray

**Not too much to say here, except if you feel like you're confused half-way through this chapter, just keep reading. It will make sense, if you just hang in there. **

* * *

The next morning was the same as ever, and no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday and as Tara cleared the table from breakfast, Dawn hurried upstairs to get her laptop, anxious to have John read over her report. Sherlock talked briefly with Willow in the kitchen as Tara put away the last of the dishes. Spike hovered nearby, and chugged his morning mug of O negative, listening to the two chat about spells which Sherlock was interested in experimenting with.

"So, this spell. It freezes time? Or does it freeze the people?" Sherlock asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Not either really. It slows time. A-and the people. It makes everyone look like they're you know.. like walking in jello, kinda."

"I see.. Could be quite helpful then. For example, when chasing down a suspect."

"Yes, then we could just use the roads like everyone else in London, instead of rooftops." John chimed in sarcastically, as he slid past Willow to refill his coffee cup. "Ought to be careful what you tell him about. He'll be wanting to subject you to all sorts of dangerous and .. well, rather smelly experiments. Its his nature." John smiled and winked at Willow, then left the kitchen to return to helping Dawn. Spike smiled at the thought, then remembered the chip in his head, making him frown suddenly behind his near-empty mug. He knew the feeling of being poked, prodded and locked in a cage like some lab animal, and growled softly at the image in his mind of Willow in that situation. Even though he and the redhead hadn't always gotten on well, he didn't really want to see anything of the sort happen to her. His thoughts quickly turned to Sherlock, and devising a plan to keep him away from Willow. As he stalked off, Spike felt a sudden anger rising up in him. _Kill 'im, I will.. He'd better keep his hands off her, bloody ponce... _

* * *

John sat at the table, Dawn beside him, as he read the report on her laptop. He was only a page into the paper on Shakespeare when he suddenly turned to Dawn.

"Rubbish! You haven't any idea how terrible this is. Have you ever even read any of his work?" John stood suddenly, snapping shut the laptop and cursing under his breath as he stomped up the stairs. Dawn sat staring after him, bewildered and hurt by his words. _But.. how could he.. _

"I _HATE _YOU!" Dawn screamed, grabbing the computer and running out the front door. She finally slowed to a walk once she reached the end of the street, where she turned and headed towards the cemetery. As she approached Spike's old crypt, a chill ran through her and she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Dawn pushed open the door and crept inside, finding it almost exactly as it had been when Spike moved into the house with them. There were cobwebs everywhere and the TV was gone, along with the fridge, but that was no bother to her. Her heart raced and she tripped a little on the stairs which led to the bedroom Spike had created. Once downstairs, she settled onto the old bed and began sobbing violently. The hurt threatened to tear her apart, as she wiped her tears on her sleeve. As she looked around the room, still shaking with pain and anger, something caught her attention under a pile of stones in the corner. It was silver and shaped like a handle, with little blue and white gems on it. The girl walked across the room and pushed away the rubble that trapped the object, which she discovered was an old, beautifully made sword. As she held it, looking at her reflection in the dusty blade, her face became unnaturally hot, and her sobs fell to a slight whine, which became a low, inhuman growl. Dawn grinned, and blew the dust off the blade, then spoke to her reflection. "That bastard.. I know how to fix him.."

* * *

John sat on the bed, shaking with rage as Sherlock entered the room. The doctor stood, and turned to face him, then dashed over and swung at the taller man's face. Sherlock caught the fist just as it was about to meet his nose, and twisted John's arm behind him suddenly. The two struggled, Sherlock carefully placing blows to John's side, and John kicking and flailing, his right arm still trapped. He pulled his left arm forward and rammed his elbow back, hitting Sherlock in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him briefly. As he lay sputtering on the floor, he saw John pull a stake from his waistband, holding it over Sherlock with a threatening look in his eyes. He was trying to get to his feet, when he noticed John's eyes cloud over and become black, indicating something was terribly amiss. Sherlock crouched down and rolled to the right just as John brought the stake down with such force that it snapped when it hit the floor instead of the detective. John stood up, and turned to Sherlock who was now standing beside him. John rushed at him, causing them both to topple onto the bed as they both struggled to subdue the other. As Sherlock finally gained control of his friend, pinning him down at the shoulders, he couldn't stop the sinister thoughts that began to flood his mind. _He'll die for this.. Ignoring me and pretending he doesn't care.. If I can't have him, no one ever will.. _

* * *

"I need a drink.." Spike grumbled as he covered himself with his ratty old blanket and raced out the door and to the manhole cover down the street. Once safely down inside the sewer tunnel, he extinguished the small flames that had broken out on his hands, then tossed the blanket to the side. He trudged off towards Willie's bar, where he same up through the basement and sat down at the bar.

"We're closed!" A shrill voice called from the back room. Willie appeared, and upon realizing who the customer was, hurried over to get Spike a drink. "Oh.. man. Sorry Spike. Didn't know it was you, ya know? Hey, I'm glad you came by, man. Had someone here askin' bout ya last night. She was pissed, man. Said she'd pick out my eyes if I didn't tell.. I hate to do that to ya.. Self preservation, ya know?" The short, rat-faced barkeeper shrank back as Spike downed the shot and slammed the glass down, shattering it on the counter.

"Who? And what did you tell her?" The vampire gripped the man by his shirt, nearly dragging him over the bar. His eyes faded from a crisp, piercing blue to their unmistakable yellow, causing the man to squeak in fear as he struggled to get away.

"Your girl! She was here, man.. Looked bout as psycho as ever, hair all messed up and that damn doll.. Thing gives me the fuckin' creeps... I-I told her the slayer's old house.. Last I knew you were there.. She was gonna kill me! Had to tell her something.. I panicked! Please, Spike, man.. Let me go.. come on.." Willie wrenched his shirt free, flinging himself backwards against the shelf of bottles. As they crashed to the floor around him, Spike jumped over the counter and wrapped his and around the frightened man's throat.

"I should kill you.. I should snap your neck right now.. Never EVER tell anyone where I am. Especially not _HER_..." Spike roared, then threw Willie to the ground before turning on his heels and disappearing into the basement stairway. Willie watched the long black coat whip around the corner, and once he was sure Spike had left, he flopped his head back onto the floor, sighing just as he passed out.

* * *

By the time Spike returned to the house, everyone was on the brink of either killing each other or killing themselves. Xander and Anya were screaming at each other in the living room, Williow and Tara were in the kitchen struggling for a frying pan that Tara intended to beat Willow with, and John and Sherlock were in a to-the-death fist fight upstairs. Spike stormed off to the basement to escape the insanity, where he found Dawn seated on his cot, the old sword at her side.

"Where have you been?" She said in a low, shaking voice as she stood to approach the vampire.

"Getting information.. You've been to my crypt?" Spike stood facing her, his arms crossed over his chest. He stepped closer to the girl, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the sword.

"Yeah. So what? I go there to think. Not like you're using the place, now that you're all goody-two-shoes. You're pathetic." Dawn scoffed, as she passed him to check on the fighting upstairs. Once she had listened and could still hear the howls of pain coming from John and Sherlock who were throwing each other about, she sat back down. "Just waiting it out, you know. If Sherlock doesn't kill him, I will.." Her voice trailed off as her heard the front door slam upstairs and Giles stomping about breaking up the others. "Damn it." Dawn rushed upstairs, but was stopped near the kitchen by Giles.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" He removed his glasses and silently inspected the teen to make sure she hadn't been hurt. Once satisfied, he questioned her again. "Dawn. Answer me. What's all this about?"

"We're all so stupid you know? Thinking we could all live here and get along.. And John.. He called my report rubbish..." Her eyes faded to black momentarily, before she started sobbing again. Giles saw the swift change in colour, and instantly pushed her back towards the basement door.

"You get down there, and stay put, you hear me?" As Dawn stepped down into the stairwell, Giles shut the door and rushed to the dining room, where he grabbed a chair to block the door with. He began rushing about the house, searching for anything that was out of place. As he stepped into the living room, he was tackled by Xander, who with Anya's help, hurriedly subdued the watcher and knocked him out. As everything slipped into darkness, Giles could hear Willow's voice in the distance, but could barely make out what she was saying.

"Its all... fault... way.. He was... watcher... Let.. die... his fa-..."

* * *

**so, insane and confusing, right? Well, I promise I'll give you more to work with in the next chapter. Really. Just remember, at the end of ch 9, Druscilla was somehow involved with that mysterious gold stone that now sits on the mantle.. ;)**


	7. The Curse, Love and Confusion

**Fair warning. Really kinda OOC in some parts here. So please, forgive me. Also, Sunnydale-style insanity and just plain weirdness in this chapter. You've been warned. That aside, enjoy. Oh and Merry Christmas!**

* * *

The overhead lights in the basement were blinding as Giles' eyes fluttered open. His head throbbed all over, and he knew there had to be a lump somewhere round the back. He blinked a few times, allowing his eyes time to adjust, and slowly realized he was tied to a chair. Thick, tan ropes secured his wrists behind him; his ankles cuffed together with the chains he'd used a few years back to detain Spike in the bathtub. His mind searched, trying to grasp for the wispy bits of conversation he'd heard just as he'd gone unconscious. _Willow.. Something about... Let someone die.. My fault.. Buffy? No.. No.. Willow wouldn't ever.. Could she? Maybe she could... Maybe it was.. Lord help me.. _A tear threatened to roll down his cheek, just as the basement door swung open at the top of the stairs. There was movement, a thud as the door was slammed shut again, then footsteps thumping down the steps. Xander slowly strode over to Giles, an evil grin taking over what had started as a rather weak and pained expression.

"Well, well... Sleeping beauty's finally up. So glad you could join the party, Ripper.." Xander hissed out the nickname, sneering as he circled the helpless watcher. "No need to speak. I can explain everything. See, we've figured something out here. It was you, Giles. Always you. It was you when she ran away, it was you when she fell for that... Angel... It was you when she died. Don't you get it? You pushed her so hard, and made her feel... Like she had to grow up too soon.. It was all your fault.. And now, well now, buddy you're gonna pay." Xander drew back his fist and brought it down across Giles' right eye, cracking his cheekbone with the force of the blow. Giles sucked in a sudden breath, the pain adding to his already intensifying headache. As he looked back up at Xander, he saw the young man begin pacing the basement, seemingly debating with himself.

"Xander.. I know.. It was.. And.. ah.. I know. Please, something's not right here. You must let me go. Don't you notice it? The fighting, the hostility, the blame. Its... rather unusual."

"No. No, its typical. All of us have been holding back for so long! First Christmas without her... It was bound to happen!" Xander rushed over, and dealt another blow to Giles, this time straight to his ribs. As Giles struggled to regain his breath, he realised that Xander was right about something. They had all been holding back a lot, and it seemed someone had done something to unleash all of it at once. He had to get away, find a way to get out of the basement and figure out what caused this.

"Xander.. Please.." Giles groaned. "Listen to me. It was my fault. I know that. I've blamed myself so much..." He sighed, realizing that it was going to be difficult to get through the anger and hurt that had taken over the poor boy. "You're all like my own children, you know.. Have been for years. But Buffy.. I'd give anything to be the one who jumped from that tower.. Just to let her live.. And you're right.. Being angry with me. But you must remember one thing."

"What? The world needs us? That... that.. we can take over her job and stop the big bads from doing something.. bad?" He exclaimed in frustration. His pacing sped up, and he clenched his fists, ready to beat the older man near to death.

"I love you. All of you. More than this life. And if taking mine is what makes yours easier to bear, then so be it. But always remember that I love you, Xander." Giles watched as Xander stopped suddenly, his back turned to him. There was a long silence, and Giles wondered if he'd come even close to breaking through the spell's hold. Xander's head slowly fell forward, and he collapsed to his knees, shoulders shaking terribly with each sob that escaped his lips. His sobs slowly turned into howls of pain; pain caused by the loss of a loved one, pain caused by spending years hiding your true feelings only to have them shattered by a sudden irreversible death; pain from spending a childhood asking yourself if your parents cared more about you or the booze. As his cries slowed, Xander wiped the tears that streaked his face and stood, turning to face the one person who'd always cared about him, who'd always tried to help him, to save him. To love him like a father loves a child. He rushed to Giles' side, sliding on his knees, hurrying to untie his hands and unchain his feet. As he stood and helped the watcher to his feet, Xander pulled him into a tight, tearful embrace, threatening to break Giles' already cracked ribs.

"Giles.. Oh god.. I'm so sorry. It was just.. and the hate.. and it was like fire.. and.. your eye! Geez, that looks bad. I'm really sorry. I love you too, Giles. We have to figure this out, now. Otherwise, we're gonna be digging a lot of holes tonight." Xander babbled on the whole way up the steps, gently assisting Giles up to the top despite the watcher's protests. Once upstairs, Xander crept ahead, making sure the living room was clear before motioning for Giles to follow. Once seated on the couch, Giles looked around the room then leaned back into the cushions, trying to take some pressure off his aching chest.

* * *

"You're so... so.. stubborn! You just can't seem to deal with the fact that you might not be as heterosexual as you think! And THAT is not MY FAULT!" Sherlock roared, shoving John backwards against the TV. "And another thing. Why do you insist on those pathetic jumpers? Really, John. This isn't the fifth grade! Dress.. like.. a.. MAN!" John ducked just as Sherlock swung at him, then used all of his strength to wrap himself around the detective's knees, flinging him backwards onto the bed.

"Well.. You're obnoxious! And not everything is OBVIOUS... You.. freak!" John cried, burying his fist in Sherlock's gut, knocking the wind out of him briefly. As John stood to leave the room, Sherlock grabbed the back of his jumper and pulled him onto the bed, pinning him at the shoulders, his grey eyes studying the doctor's expression. There was a moment of tension between them, then Sherlock leaned down and brushed his lips across John's cheek. He pulled back and forcefully crashed his lips down upon John's, kissing him with a deep, unchained passion that surprised them both. When Sherlock pulled away, John laid there, dumbfounded, then regained his senses and slapped the other man. "How.. dare.. YOU!" John growled low in his chest, and flung himself upwards, throwing Sherlock off him and onto the floor. "You are a freak! A gay freak! What the bloody hell is your problem? Damn you, Sherlock! Go find someone else to harass! What were you thinking?" John stomped over to the window, glaring out at the oak tree.

"Proved that point." Sherlock said triumphantly, then picked himself up from the floor and turned towards John. "You liked it. Don't keep secrets, John. This watcher secret was bad enough of you."

"Get out.. NOW! I can't even look at you! You sick bastard!" John cried, his heart racing faster, his face flushing with pure rage.

"Fine. Fine then. Forget you then." Sherlock stormed out to the hallway, and ducked into the bathroom just as he heard Willow stomping up the stairs after Tara, who was threatening to leave. The detective locked the door behind him, then sat down on the side of the tub, his face resting in his palms. "Bloody hell.. I'm going home."

* * *

"Tell me exactly what happened this morning. Everything. Were there any deliveries? Anything new brought into the house? Anyone loitering outside that you've seen?"

"No, nothing.. Umm.. There was breakfast, then John was supposed to help Dawn.."

"Oh! Dawn! Where is she?" Giles stood quickly, then sat back down as the room began to swim around him.

* * *

Dawn crept up the stairs, the sword she'd taken from Spike's crypt dragging behind her. She slipped into the hall closet just as Sherlock flung open the bedroom door and marched across to the bathroom. _That was close.. _She sighed in relief when the bathroom door slammed, followed by the slam of the bedroom door. Dawn leaned back against the shelves, and let the sword slide against the wall till it rested in the corner beside her. _Just wait here.. He'll be out after Sherlock soon enough.. His pet.. That asshole.. Call my work rubbish... What a stupid word, anyway.. Why can't they just speak English?_

"When I opened the basement, she took off upstairs. I guess she's probably in her room. Why?"

"Her eyes. I saw her eyes. She's being affected too. Damn.. Damn!" Giles stood again, this time maintaining his balance well enough to get upstairs and find Dawn creeping out of the closet and behind John who was arguing with the bathroom door. Giles quickly put his hand over her mouth and wrapped his arm around the girl's waist, hauling her off down the stairs, her feet dragging the floor and arms flailing wildly, one hand still clutching the sword she'd held behind her back. Once back at the couch, Xander sat on Dawn's lap while Giles took the sword and threw it across the room. Satisfied that Xander could use his weight to hold down the struggling teen, Giles searched the house, trying to find what could be the source of such chaos. As he had begun to give up hope, the sun broke through the clouds outside, casting its rays into the living room and over to the mantle where a shining gold object caught Giles' eye. He rushed over and grabbed the golden stone, inspecting it for any marks that could give an answer. The only mark he found was a fingerprint, made of some sort of chocolate cookie goo. "Xander.. Where'd this come from?"

"Never seen it before. Dawn?" Xander took his hand off Dawn's mouth to allow her to answer.

"I'll kill you for this!" She growled, and Xander clasped his hand back in place immediately.

"Nope. I doubt she knows anything..."

"Well.. Right.." Giles set the stone on the coffee table, and removed his glasses to clean them. Just as he brought them up to his handkerchief, he noticed that a small bit of the gold had rubbed off onto his fingers. "Oh... oh! Fool's gold.." He replaced his glasses and rushed over to the bookshelf, yanking down a book about gems and other stones. "Here.. Fool's Gold.. Looks almost identical to real gold and can be found in abundance in small areas, yet has no real monetary worth.."

"Yeah. I took earth science.. What about it?"

"During the gold rush, men would find loads of it, then learn that what they thought was a fortune in gold was merely a ton of pretty rocks. It brought out the worst in them. Men killed over this same kind of rock. If you cast a certain curse on it, it will cause all those who come too near it to go, well, insane, really. Brings out the pure anger and hatred in them if they're even slightly irritated to begin with."

"Great! Now, how do we stop it?"

* * *

Spike sat in Dawn's room, staring at the photos of Buffy and Dawn, their mother, Willow, Xander and Giles. As he looked over each of their smiling faces in the frames, a sharp pain struck him, bringing up another wave of anger, followed by a dull ache of sadness. He was no where to be seen, not with Buffy, not with Dawn, not even with Joyce who had always treated him like a man when everyone else saw him as a monster. _Just like her Mum.. Good girl, she is.. Loves me anyway.. _He thought, then threw the photo of Dawn and Xander at the wall, shattering the glass in the frame into tiny pieces. Spike stood, and stepped over to the CD rack on the desk, looking at the albums. He tossed the Backstreet Boys aside, then N sync, and finally Avril Lavigne before he discovered a disk that nearly melted the hatred that filled him. _Never Mind The Bollocks.. Huh.. Guess I've rubbed off on her.. _He chuckled to himself, then lowered his brow and stormed off to the bed, flopping down beside the pillows. _Just stake myself, I should... Get it done an over with.. She'd never love me. Too old.. Too much like her family.. Family... Buffy... I miss her... an' poor Joyce.. great lady.. Just gonna run out into the sun.. Make it all stop.. _

* * *

"We stop the curse.. well, quite simply really. Smash it." Giles smiled, and tossed the book down onto the table for Xander to verify that he was right about the curse. The page went on forever, then near the bottom, described the curse involved and explained that smashing the fool's gold would end its affects.

"What are you waiting for then? Smash away!"

"Oh.. Right." Giles took the fool's gold out to the kitchen where he set it on the counter and pulled a hammer from the closet. Just as he swung the hammer down, Xander appeared in the doorway, still fighting to hold onto a wildly flailing Dawn. The hammer crashed down onto the rock, and as the tiny shards flew across the counter, a silence came over the house. Xander and Giles stood looking at each other for a long while, before Dawn broke the moment.

"Mrhh... Hrr-mehhh lmmm-mhhh HMM!"

"What?" Xander pulled his hand away from her mouth, leaving just enough space that she could speak, but if need be he could still silence her quickly.

"I said, you can let me go! Its okay.. I'm okay." Dawn wiggled out of his grasp, then sank to the floor, a wave of sadness overtaking her. Her sobs were echoed upstairs, where everyone else suddenly felt overcome by tears, the anger they'd felt dissolving instantly.

"Well. Right then. Tissues?" Giles asked, brushing past Xander to go console the others.

"Hall closet." Xander leaned down and scooped up the crying girl, carrying her like a child into the living room where they sat on the couch, Dawn's body shaking with each heartbroken wail. Xander pulled her close, hushing her softly as he petted her hair in a soothing manner. Spike slowly trudged down the stairs, and into the living room where he sat on the other side of Dawn and looked at Xander.

"Go on, mate. Your girl needs you. I've got the Nibblet." Spike said softly, pulling Dawn over onto his chest, freeing Xander to tend to Anya. As Xander walked over to the doorway, he turned back and looked at Spike for what felt like forever.

"Spike.. You're alright, you know.. Good guy and all. Just thought you should know."

"Right.. You too. Good man. Always thought so... Don't tell anyone though. Gotta keep up appearances, ya know?" Spike forced a half-smile, tears gleaming on his cheeks. Xander nodded in understanding and left the blonde vampire to take care of the girl. "Hey.. Bit.. Shh... It's alright now. I've got ya." Spike pulled her closer, nuzzling against her long brown hair, then planting a kiss on her temple. "I'm here, pet. Shh.." As he felt another wave of misery crashing onto him, Spike felt Dawn move against him.

"Love you, Spike.." Dawn said sleepily, exhausted from the extreme change in emotion she'd felt. As she leaned up to kiss his cheek, Spike leaned down to kiss hers. Their eyes clouded by tears, they both aimed a little off and their lips met, only for a moment. The two jumped back away from each other, startled at the slip-up. It was wrong. _Not cool.. Bad. Bad bad.. Very bad.. _Dawn panicked in her mind, looking away suddenly as she felt her cheeks warming. _Don't blush! Oh.. My... God! What is wrong with me? He's Spike... He's like, like... I really should pay attention in math... 11 times my age! I think... or is it 10? Its Spike! _Dawn glanced back over to Spike, then looked away again, crossing her arms over her chest. As she slowly turned her head to try and see Spike's reaction, she felt cold, rough fingertips on her cheek, pulling her face towards Spike, forcing her to look at him. As his blue eyes met hers, Spike hummed a few notes, then in a deep, soft voice sang,

"This is not a love song..." Just as he finished the line, Dawn leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, her hand wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. Spike pulled Dawn tight against him, taking in her scent, her warmth. He pulled away suddenly, and looked into her eyes, taking in just how beautiful she'd become. "We can't... You can't.. I'm..."

"Too old? Spike.. Angel and... B-Buffy.. She was like, sixteen and he was what? Two-hundred and forty-something? Yeah. You're totally not too old." Dawn smiled softly, and kissed his cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder. "But its cool. If its too weird.. I get that. All good here."

"I love you." Spike whispered, his fingers interlocking with hers.

"I thought it wasn't a love song.." Dawn joked, rubbing her thumb over Spike's hand affectionately. "At least everything's back to normal.. Sort of."

"Yeah.. Sorta." Spike echoed, sighing as he fought the need to just fall asleep right there, with the one girl.. young woman.. who could make him feel real again.

* * *

"John... Oh, John.. I don't mind the jumpers, and you're not stubborn. Well, not nearly as much as I am.. or Mycroft.. And I know you're not gay.. Or at least.. I know you don't think you're gay.. And I'm not going home without you."

"You really are terrible at apologies." John laughed, wiping his tears on his sleeve. He stood and walked over to the door way where Sherlock stood fighting his own tears. As John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, drawing him into a warm, forgiving embrace, Sherlock lost the will to fight and whimpered softly as a tear ran down his face. "Its nearly Christmas. Let's try and have a nice holiday, right?"

"Right." Sherlock sniffled. "Do I have to get you anything? You know how I feel about holidays. So pointless and over-commercialized."

"One thing, okay? Another one of those kisses. Was kinda nice, really. But, in a friend-kiss way, you know. Still not gay."

"That's what you think." Sherlock mocked, then leaned down and gave his dear friend a quick peck on the lips.

John laughed and smiled up at the detective. "That sucked, Sherlock. Terrible kiss."

* * *

**There it is. Chapter seven. So, its been a while since I checked Angel and Spike's ages, so please correct me if I was wrong about that. Also, I know some are against pairing Dawn/Spike when Dawn is under 18. But, like Dawn said, Buffy was with Angel, she was 16 and he was like.. an antique. So if you didn't mind that, why would you mind Dawn/Spike? Hmm? O.o Hope you enjoyed this, please R&R! Thanks!**


	8. Blood, Spiders, and Secrets

**Very very sorry for the major gap between updates. I've had a serious case of writers block lately, so I apologize for that. Anyway, here's the new chapter. I hope its at least somewhat as good as the others. (I'm still not a fan of my own work.) **

**On with the story!**

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* * *

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"Oh.. my.. GOD! This.. oh, well now.. this is just priceless!" Spike taunted, standing in the doorway to John and Sherlock's room. He smirked at the pair who were seated on the edge of the bed, hair ruffled and shirts tossed to the side. John had finally gotten a proper kiss -for purely scientific reasons, of course- from Sherlock and to their surprise, he'd found it was more than enjoyable. Enough so that they'd found themselves soon toppling over onto the bed, fighting for control over their impromptu make-out session. The only flaw: they'd forgotten to lock the door. And so now they were being gawked at whilst half naked and panting, both of them suddenly realizing that maybe they'd gone too far, that they had been caught up in the moment a little too much. John peered over Sherlock's shoulder and groaned. Spike was grinning ear to ear, licking at his bottom lip with the kind of sneer that screamed _'Just wait till I tell EVERYONE!' _Sherlock turned towards Spike and stood slowly, keeping his eyes on the vampire as he took his shirt from the corner and slipped it back on. "Right.. Well, Red's got dinner all ready. Sent me to tell ya'. Oh, and no worries. Secrets safe with me." And with that, Spike gave one last amused look at the pair, then turned on his heel and stalked off to the stairway.

"Great. Just bloody wonderful! You, the worlds only consulting detective FAILS to lock the door. How in the hell do you not notice the door isn't locked! Christ, Sherlock.. This is just great. Just lovely. Now that.. that thing.. is off to tell the whole damn household that we were.. damn. Just damn.." John stood suddenly, grabbed his jumper from the floor and yanked it back on, then stomped over to Sherlock. "Oh, and just so you know.. STILL not GAY!" John poked Sherlock in the chest, and began to slip past him to the door, when suddenly he was being wrapped in the long, pale arms of his friend, and before he could think to protest, the detective's lips were firmly planted upon his, sending tingling shock waves through his body. John froze momentarily, then relaxed into the embrace as his senses were assaulted by that which is Sherlock Holmes. His messy, brown curls brushing John's face with each movement, his soft but forceful lips, the scent of his aftershave, his long slender fingers stroking his back ever so gently. The man was like a drug, and John was no longer in control of his own mind or body, which was proven by the sudden ache between his legs. He'd always marvelled at the complexity and undeniable beauty of his flatmate, but had never once felt such a rush of desire to be anything more than friends. It was a jarring thought, which brought John back to reality with the realization that he was thinking of Sherlock in more than a platonic way. Even so, John let the thoughts linger and allowed himself to reach up and cup Sherlock's cheek in his palm, letting his fingers slide into his hair as the kiss deepened again, the tip of Sherlock's tongue brushing lightly against John's lips, teasing them open. John opened his eyes slightly as he broke away gently, his fingers still wrapped in Sherlock's dark locks. The two stood silently studying each other for a long moment, then John dropped his hand to his side and looked at the floor, as thought it might know what to say. Just as he was going to break the silence, Sherlock cleared his throat to speak.

"Yes... well then. I believe we have our results now." He turned away slowly, allowing his thigh to brush against the bulge in the front of the doctor's jeans. John jumped and let out a sudden moan, only further proving to himself that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't so sure of his sexuality like he'd once thought.

* * *

"GILES!" Willow screeched from the kitchen, sending the ex-watcher dashing through the living room at full speed. He nearly knocked over Dawn as she carried the plates out to the table. As he came to a stop in the kitchen doorway, he found the redhead perched on the island counter, holding a spatula and pointing at the floor. "Spider! Big.. hairy.. bitey.. YICK!" She wailed, shivering slightly at the small tarantula that had somehow found its way into the house. Giles jumped into action, taking a fry pan down from the cupboard and beating the offending arachnid into a very slimy, furry mess. As he nudged it into a dustpan and tossed its remains in the trash, Giles stopped and looked at the quivering witch who was still crouched on the counter. Fighting back a fit of laughter he helped her down and took to washing the spider guts off the back of the pan. "Thanks, Giles. Ugh! It was just.. with the fur.. and eyes.." Willow babbled, then contorted her face in an expression of disgust, fear and what looked like hatred for the poor eight-legged beast. "Using them in spells is one thing.. but sneaking up on me all sneaky-like when I'm all defenceless at the stove.. that was just.. unfair." No longer able to hold back his amusement, Giles burst out laughing at the spectacle. An infinitely powerful witch, shaking with fear over a spider.. It was definitely the high point of his day. As he doubled over at the sink, roaring with laughter and shaking his head, Willow couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"What's so funny guys?" Dawn said from the doorway.

"Spider.. Willow.. on the counter.. screaming.. spatula.." Giles said in between chuckles, fighting to catch his breath.

"Okay then.. Yeah." Dawn turned and walked back out to the dining room, unsure if there was any point in asking again. She pulled out a chair and flopped down, then jumped back up as she saw Spike at the bottom of the stairs. Their eyes met and, like he knew what she was thinking, Spike bolted towards the kitchen, reaching the fridge just before Dawn. "No!" she pleaded. "You beat me.. How.. Grr! Hmmph.." Dawn crossed her arms over her chest and stomped off to the dining room, defeated. Spike was soon at her side, sitting down with a mug of blood in one hand, his other hand stroking her hair softly.

"Now, now.. you should know better, nibblet. No use racing a vamp to the blood. I'll always win." He hissed softly. Dawn looked over at him, and watched as he took a gulp from the yellow smiley-face mug.

"So.." Willow sighed as she carried the bowl of spaghetti out to the table. "You two.. with the snugglies. Very.. umm.. cute." the witch squeaked nervously. She'd been the first to find the pair cuddled up sleeping on the sofa that afternoon. As much as Willow had thought it was sweet, she had decided to bring it up, just to make sure they didn't need to worry about any 'funny business' as she'd called it when talking it over with Giles. She placed the serving bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce on the table and took a seat across from Dawn. Spike reached over and pulled the bowl to him, then scooped out some spaghetti onto his plate.

"Will.. its cool. We're just.. friends." Dawn said, hurriedly stuffing her mouth with a bite of French bread. She glanced over at Spike to see if he was going to jump in on the conversation and save her, but he was busy pouring blood from his mug onto his plate and stirring it into his food. Dawn's stomach twisted into a knot at the sight, threatening to make her sick right there at the table. _Blood.. in spaghetti... oh.. gross! _She was ripped out of her thoughts by Spike's voice, asking if she was feeling all right. "Mmm-hmm..." Dawn mumbled, realizing she still had a substantial chunk of bread in her mouth, that she was soon aware she couldn't swallow without throwing up. Excusing herself to the kitchen with a quick "Mmm-hmm-hrmm", Dawn rushed to the trash can and spit out the bread. Giles was still at the sink, sipping a cup of tea as he watched the panic-stricken Dawn running by and seemingly throwing her guts up into the garbage. Dawn turned and found Giles staring at her, a questioning look on his face. "Ugh.. man.. Spike.. totally gross.. blood on spaghetti.. who does that anyway?"

"Well, it appears Spike does, unfortunately. Tell Willow I won't be joining you for dinner. I may not be capable of having dinner for the rest of my life, now that I've got that image in my head, thank you." Giles washed out his tea cup and set it back on the shelf. He patted Dawn on the shoulder, then smiled hesitantly before making his way to the living room. Dawn crept back into the dining room and took her seat. John and Sherlock had already come down and were beginning to eat, unaware that the plate in front of Spike had blood in the sauce. Dawn slowly started on her own plate, focusing on her own untainted food to push the thoughts of bloody spaghetti out of her head.

"So, Doc... " Spike started. "How'd that go for you two.. the whole-" He was just about to announce to the group that he'd caught John and Sherlock together, when there was a terrible crash from outside, causing everyone to jump from their seats and rush to the front door. Outside, Giles was sitting in his car with a large, green demon squatting on the hood. It glared at him, then heard the commotion behind it and rushed towards the house, tossing aside Xander as it burst through the group and tackled Anya who was standing at the bottom of the stairs. As the demon clawed at Anya, snarling and growling, Spike jumped onto its back, beating it over the head with his fist. It threw him off, then stood sniffing the air. It turned towards Sherlock and stalked over to the detective, who tried his best not to flinch or make a sound. The beast sniffed him, first his head, then shoulders and back to his hair, before tossing the tall, thin man over his shoulder and rushing out the door with him. Sherlock yelped involuntarily, kicking and trying his best to break free of its grasp. John ran outside, but was too late to save him. The demon and Sherlock had both disappeared from view. Giles climbed out of the car, shaking but uninjured. He stared down the street where the demon had vanished from, then collapsed to the ground. Dawn and Willow dashed over and helped him to his feet, then dragged him back into the house. Once all were back inside, Sherlock not included, Willow spoke up.

"John.. Is there something Sherlock forgot to mention?"

* * *

**Please don't kill me! I know, I know.. cliffhanger. Everyone hates them. I agree. It was a necessary evil, I assure you! *evil laugh***


	9. Blue

**Here's number nine.. in which nothing is explained and the plot thickens.. just to drive Aza and cyberbutterfly even more crazy... Cause I'm mean like that. :D No, really, love you guys! Most loyal readers ever! Big hugs, and I hope you enjoy this. More to come soon!**

* * *

"I need to make a call.." John muttered as he turned away, ignoring Willow's question. She grabbed his arm, causing him to turn and face her slowly. Willow's hand dropped away from his elbow, empathy overwhelming her at the look on his face. She could see he was terribly upset, and needed to be alone for a bit to sort things out in his head. She nodded to him and patted his shoulder softly, then he walked off to the phone in the kitchen. The rest of the group sat down in the living room, all of them scouring through books of demons, hoping to find the offending monster and maybe even something that might explain why it had taken Sherlock. Giles followed John to the kitchen, making sure his old friend would be alright.

"John.."

"Rupert... Can you.. please.. get my mobile? It-its on the coffee table, I think." John said quietly, forcing back the tears welling up behind his eyes.

"Of course. You all right?"

"Just need my phone.." John replied shakily. He was truly terrified for Sherlock, and wanted nothing more than to enlist a little extra help. Even if it was in the form of the elder Holmes. Giles returned to the kitchen, John's mobile in hand and stood by patiently as John found the number he needed and made the call.

"May I ask.. who're you calling?" Giles asked.

"Mycroft Holmes.. Sherlock's brother."

"Ah.. John, I do hate to be so pessimistic, but I must say he may be Sherlock's brother, though I hardly think he can do anything about this. He's not a member of the council, to my knowledge, and if Sherlock had no real knowledge of the occult previous to this, how would his brother fare any better?"

"No. No, he's not with the Council, but he is the bloody government, and even if he can't do a damn thing, he should know..." John's voice trailed off as the phone stopped ringing and a woman answered. "Um, yes.. Mycroft Holmes, please. Its quite urgent." He was place on hold for a moment, then Mycroft's calm, disinterested voice came through the line.

"Hello, John."

"Mycroft. We have a problem.."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

"How- oh, right.. grade three surveillance. Why didn't you do anything? You do understand what's happened, right?"

"Yes, I'm looking over the video as we speak. I must say, Mr. Giles is looking quite ragged these days. Do give him my regards."

"Wait! What the hell are we to do here? And what do you know? I want information, Mycroft. Not just hidden cameras watching us run about like we've lost our minds. I can't believe I'm saying this, but... please, Mycroft. I need your help.." John's voice quivered, and Mycroft picked up on it, realizing the depth of John's concern was more than he'd thought. "Please.."

"Right.. I'll be there.. oh, say about four hours. See you soon." There was a click and the line went silent. John hung up the phone, then turned to Giles.

"Get ready.. If Mycroft thinks its necessary to take the jet, then its going to be ugly."

* * *

"John! Giles! We've got something!" Dawn wailed from the living room. She was seated beside Spike, looking through a large, leather-bound book depicting many varieties of demons. Spike rested his arm around her shoulder, as he looked down at the sketch of the demon that had taken Sherlock. It was a foul looking beast, green scales, long, talon-like claws, and two great horns atop its bald head. As Giles and John dashed into the room, Spike jumped and moved his arm back to his side quickly. "Look! I think I got it. An all-tro-the.. all-tart-hoth.. just.. here!" Dawn thrust the book towards Giles who took it from her and pushed his glasses a little further up his nose. He sat down on the coffee table, looking over the information the girl had found.

"Yes.. right. This looks to be it. Very good, Dawn."

"What is it, Giles?" Willow asked, leaning forward to get a look at the page.

"Altothra demon. They're not the most intelligent, and its says here they commonly work as labourers... Usually in exchange for protection or.. oh, dear.. infants.."

"So.. like.. not the kinda guy to just go snatching people up, huh?"

"No, Willow. I highly doubt it did this on its own. I believe someone is behind this, telling the demon what to do. We just need to find out who and why." Giles set the book down beside him and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was about to speak, but was interrupted by the sudden gasp from Spike.

"Oh.. OH! I should've known..." He looked up at John, his eyes huge with worry and a bit of excitement. "Dru. Heard she's back in town. If this was her, she's planning something nasty."

"Druscilla's back and you didn't tell us? Spike.. why?" Willow cried, standing up, her eyes fixed on the vampire. Spike could hardly look at Willow, the hurt and confusion apparent in her eyes. She'd been the first to finally trust him, had been the one that proved to the others he was harmless, and now he'd betrayed not only her but the whole group by not telling them about Dru. He stood and stalked off to the basement, unsure what to say. As he leaned against the cement wall and lit a cigarette, Spike heard the creak of the stairs, signalling someone was coming down. Dawn peeked over the railing and cleared her throat.

"Spike.. Look. I'm not mad, you know.. but.. why didn't you say something before?" Dawn approached him slowly, reaching out to touch him. As her fingertips brushed the side of his arm, he spun around to face her, pulling her by the wrists into a tight hug. His cheek pressed against the top of her head, Spike took in the scent of her shampoo, the feel of her warm breath against his chest. They stood holding each other for a moment, then Spike leaned back and looked at Dawn. "Why, Spike?"

"I.. I didn't want to scare you lot. Know how the watcher goes into a tizzy over the daft bitch. Way she did him wrong when Angelus... Look, I might be the big bad, but she's all looney toons and I.. I don't want the bunch of ya' rushin' out there and getting yourselves killed. 'Specially you, pet." He placed a kiss on her forehead and turned towards the small basement window, looking out at the sunset. It was moments away from dusk, and he knew it was up to him to fix this. "There's somethin' I have to do.. I love you.." He whispered softly before dashing up the stairs and out of the house altogether. Dawn stood frozen in place, her mind racing with fear and questions. Spike had long left the basement when she was finally able to squeak out "Love you too.." into the darkness.

* * *

"Uh.. Hmmph.." Sherlock groaned as his eyes flickered open and he rolled onto his back. He laid still a moment, taking in his immediate surroundings. _Marble walls.. tapestry.. bed.. candles... appears to be a mansion.. elegant, but old fashioned.. no electric.. singing.. singing? _He fought to sit up, but he soon found he was chained flat to the bed, unable to move more that a few inches in any direction. Lifting his head and peering into the dimly lit room around him, Sherlock quickly noticed two large, green demons near the door and a woman over by the window. She was singing an old folk tune, cradling something in her arms. As he watched her, she slowly turned and took a few steps his way.

"Oh look... see, Miss Edith.. our new toy is awake now.. like the stars. How they burn, love.. bright, dripping diamonds.. And you.." She pointed towards Sherlock and took a few slow, long strides to him. "You smell of.. sand and heartache.. Oh! The clouds in your eyes..." Leaning over Sherlock, Druscilla took a long sniff then licked the side of his face, giggling. "Velvet tears.. They make him ache.." She snarled, then suddenly her expression changed to that of amazement and fear. "He's coming.."

"Ahem.. yes.. well, if that's it then, would you kindly release me now?" Sherlock insisted, the tone of his voice low and discontented.

"Hush now.. He'll be home soon.." Dru cheered, twirling around and humming to herself. She dashed back to the window, staring out at the garden, swaying back and forth. Just as suddenly as she'd gone away, Dru rushed back to Sherlock, flopped onto the bed beside him, then crawled up towards his face. She laid beside her hostage, her head propped up on her hand, long dark hair draping over his own brown curls. "You'll be a darling gift for his homecoming party." She trailed a finger down Sherlock's shirt, then hooked it under the middle button, popping it off and continuing upwards to remove the rest, exposing his bare, pale flesh to the cold air. Dru sat up slowly, tracing small patterns on his skin with her fingernail, adding to the goosebumps that had already erupted across Sherlock's chest.

"Look.. I don't know exactly what you want of me-"

"Shh... too much noise.. Can't hear the poppies. They're whispering, warning.." Dru looked down with a wild expression, then grinned wickedly before jumping off the bed and rushing towards the door. "Leave!" She screeched at the demons who immediately stalked out of the room. Dru left the door open, then crept back over to Sherlock.

"Why am I here? Obviously you're intending on making me a gift to someone. Who? And why?"

"Why.. you have a beautiful mind.. but you know so little.. so little of this.. like tiny ants.. marching one by one.. into the fire."

"That made no sense at all. Do you understand me? What is this about?"

"Blue lights.. wonderful blue light.. melting your soul.."

"Damn it, you're insane! What the hell are you on about?"

"You, pet.. so pretty. You make it all fall away. Better than green.."

"This is absurd! Let me go!" Sherlock growled, straining to break free of the chains. He pulled and wretched side to side, but they were secured under the bed and wouldn't budge a bit. As he tried one last time to slip his hands from the metal cuffs, there was a crash from below him, signalling someone was downstairs, and rather unhappy from the racket they were making. Dru ran out of the room, letting the door open behind her. Sherlock laid still, his breathing slowed, straining to hear who was in the hall with her. What he heard was the most comforting voice he could imagine at the moment, the one voice he longed to hear whilst held captive by an insane vampire. _Spike.._

* * *

**I know.. another cliffhanger moment. But I'm going to answer a lot of questions in the next chapter, so I just had to have another "what the hell!" ending. :)**


	10. Family Secrets

**This is by far the longest chapter I've written for this fic so far. I hope you enjoy it and find at least some questions have been answered. I've tried to remember to tie up most of the loose ends, but I'm sure some things may have escaped me. Don't worry though, there will be more chapters to come. At least three, and if all goes well, a sequel afterwards. Enjoy!**

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* * *

**

Mycroft slipped his coat on over his suit jacket, and took his umbrella from the corner of his office as he flicked off the lights. 'Melody', as she'd asked to be called in the department memo that morning, was already waiting in the hall, texting away on her Blackberry, confirming the jet was ready to take off upon their arrival. The two walked down the corridor to the lift in silence, neither wanting to admit they were deeply troubled by the unforeseen events in Sunnydale. As the lift lurched then slowly drifted down to the lobby, Mycroft cleared his throat and turned to 'Melody'. "Ahem.. Well. This should be quite the adventure for us, Melody. Quite the adventure, indeed."

"Uh-huh.. wait.. Sir? Us? I hadn't planned on.."

"You're not thinking I would let you behind for this, are you?" Mycroft laughed, "Oh, my dear girl.. This isn't of National importance.. This is more a.. Sherlock problem."

"Oh. Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." Melody smiled briefly, then returned to texting as the lift stopped and opened into the lobby. The two strode past throngs of ambassadors and lawyers, leaving the building and walking out to the pavement where they were greeted by another of Mycroft's black sedans, waiting to take them to the jet. The ten minute ride was spent in silence, Melody confirming arrangements by text, and Mycroft reading and re-reading a file on his lap. He flipped through a few pages, coming to a stop at a page marked 'Holmes, Sherlock'. As he stared down at the information about the events surrounding his brother's time in Sunnydale, Mycroft sighed inwardly. My d_ear brother... Perhaps I should have told you. Mummy will be furious.._

After a rather quiet, but dull jet ride to Sunnydale, Mycroft wanted nothing more than to find his brother and put a stop to the mad-woman responsible for his kidnapping. As they walked off the airstrip, Mycroft and Melody exchanged a knowing look, confirming they both just wanted this mess to be over with. Slipping into a dark green car, Mycroft once again spoke to his assistant. "Melody, there's something I'd like to say. I think you should know- in case something should happen to me- I appreciate everything you've done. Thank you." He reached over and patted her hand, trying to keep up his stony appearance. He had always tried to distance himself from the woman, ignoring the truth of the matter. Mycroft needed his assistant as much as his own right hand, and even though he thought it absurd, he was beginning to wonder if maybe the years he'd spent with her working by his side had created feelings for her he couldn't- _wouldn't_- allow himself to confess to. His expression of appreciation brought a smile to Melody's face as she glanced over at her boss. He was staring straight ahead when he suddenly felt a soothing, gentle warmth wrap around his left hand and squeeze it lightly. Looking down to his side, he found Melody's fingers interlocked with his, her thumb brushing over his palm softly. As he raised his eyes to meet hers, Mycroft had a revelation: She was the closest thing to a real, genuine friend he currently had. Sure, he had friends and co-workers before, but none that were as important to him as Melody. He'd usually kept friends about for information and favours, and co-workers for the same things. This woman, holding his hand, was a mystery to him. Sure, she was useful and a paid employee, but he couldn't help thinking about the times he'd wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her, to finally speak the words that were threatening to burst from his lips each time there were completely alone. He sat staring into her eyes for a long moment, before turning his head to face forward again, allowing their hands to stay clasped together for the ride. He sat silently holding Melody's hand in his, thinking about the mess they were getting into and how he would change everything between them if they survived. _Lord, help us.. If she gets to him.. It may well be the death of us all.. _

* * *

"Dru.. What've you done?" Spike asked, holding the crazed vampire by the shoulders. He pushed her against the wall, evoking a whimper and a snarl. He'd walked into the room moments earlier to find the 'gift' she was jabbering on about: Sherlock. Spike continued questioning Dru for a while, pinning her to the wall, then pushing her to the floor in frustration when her psycho-babble wouldn't stop. In a moment of desperation to understand her plans, Spike slammed his fist into the wall, making Dru yelp in surprise, then grin at him as she gathered herself up from the floor and flung herself upon him.

"Oh, Spike.. you're home.. you still my lovely boy.. such ferocity.. strength.. mmm..." Dru growled, placing a kiss to his throat. Spike pulled away suddenly, his loyalty to the scoobies and to Sherlock screaming at him to stake her. But as she leaned in to press her lips to his, he saw his opportunity and seized it, embracing her completely and sweeping her up into his arms. He turned his head, only allowing her to kiss his throat and cheek, his love for Dawn making each touch from Dru gut-wrenching. As he spun around, holding her in his arms, Spike glanced over to Sherlock, chained to the bed and shivering. He set Dru back on her feet, then stalked over to Sherlock, quickly looking him over for any wounds, then staring down into his steel grey eyes.

"Spike.. what is this?" Sherlock whispered, as Spike leaned in closer, his back to Dru.

"Shh.. I'll explain later. You trust me?" he whispered back, perching himself over Sherlock as though he was ready to attack.

"I.. yes. Why?"

"Just relax. I'll get you outta here. Promise." Spike turned and walked back to Dru, scooping her up and carrying her out to the hall.

* * *

"Noooooo.. We don't want any girl scout cookies.. go away!" Xander wailed from the couch. He burrowed deeper under the blankets, trying to ignore the knocking, which continued to get louder and louder. He peeked his head out of the blankets and peered at the clock on the wall opposite him. "One in the morning? Who the hell.. Oh.. the guy!" Flinging the blankets to the floor, Xander jumped from the couch and tripped, his foot still tangled up in a sheet. As he lay on the floor, trying to regain his composure, the loud thumping of feet came rushing down the stairs, and within seconds John was opening the door and greeting Mycroft.

"Good morning, John."

"Mycroft. Glad you could come. Uh.. Hello.. Sorry, didn't catch your name.."

"Melody. And you are...?"

"John.. Watson.. We've met several times now.. How do you not- nevermind." John asighed as he ushered Mycoft and his assistant into the living room. He reached up and flipped on the lights, then noticed the struggling form of Xander on the floor, half draped in a 'Little Mermaid' comforter, his ankle wrapped in a plain blue bed sheet. "Oh! You all right?"

"Yeah.. Just thought the floor needed a hug, ya know?" Xander replied with a silly grin. He finally broke free of the offending linens, and stood up dusting himself off pointlessly. Pushing his hair back from his eyes, he suddenly became aware that he was in his pyjamas, while Mycroft and Melody stood staring at him silently. "Oh.. Hey. Uh.. you're the dude. Welcome to our humble hellmouth!" Xander bowed and smiled nervously.

"Xander.. You don't have to do that.. He's not the Queen, though some days I do wonder.." John smirked at the mental image of Mycroft sitting in his office wearing a crown and complaining about the price of tea. Shaking the image from his mind, he turned back to his guests. "Tea?"

"Sounds lovely. Melody, stay here with the boy.. I must talk to John alone." With that, Mycroft followed John to the kitchen, leaving Melody and Xander behind in silence.

* * *

"John, there's something we need to discuss. Here." Mycroft set the file on the counter, gently pushing it to John as he sipped his tea. "You see, for some time now we've been aware that Sherlock is not.. normal. The data we've collected over the years seems to indicate what I'd suspected is true. Also, this Druscilla.. I believe she's planning to use him to help create an inter-dimensional rift, opening a portal and setting catastrophic events into motion. Events that will change the face of the earth as we know it, returning it to what it once was and releasing the armies of hell to kill anyone that they cannot use. Now, if you have a look here, Druscilla has been travelling about the globe, gathering pieces of a very old, very powerful stone circle that originated at Stonehenge, then was taken away and used by the Picts for communicating with those in other dimensions. It was broken into seven pieces by the Christians after they converted the last of the Picts, and each piece was sent to a different continent. We believe she is now in possession of all seven pieces and a scroll that once interpreted, explains the ritual to use the circle to rip the fabric of our reality completely."

"Mycroft.. Get to the point. Can you help us or not?" John said impatiently, his nerves already shot from the loss of Sherlock, and the fear that he may never see him again.

"Right. I can stay and see to it that your team has all they need to stop Druscilla and prevent the end of the human race. Will that do?"

"I.. uh.. yes, I think it will."

"Good. Oh, and John.. Sherlock will be fine, I assure you."

"Right. Thanks. I'll have Xander set you two up in the living room. He can take the floor in my room." John placed his tea cup in the sink and walked out, and met Xander in the hall. "Xander. Let those two take the living room, okay? There's plenty of room upstairs."

"Oh, sure.. Kick me outta the living room for Crazy and Stuffy Spice.."

"Xander.. Shut up and get your blankets."

"Yes, boss." Xander mocked, then shuffled back to the couch and gathered up his bedclothes.

"And Xander.. There is no Stuffy or Crazy Spice.. and its really pathetic that I know that.."

* * *

Sherlock lay silent on the bed, waiting for Spike to come back and help him. It had been a long while, but how long, Sherlock couldn't be sure. Although he could see the moon through a window on the far wall, his lack of knowledge about the universe and its workings prohibited him from telling the time. So he lay there, chained up and cold, wondering if it had been minutes or hours since Spike and Dru left the room. He had deducted that they were somewhere near the edge of town, as he could make out the gently swaying form of the forest in the distance, and had heard no noise from outside that would indicate typical town traffic. Even if he chose to scream for help, it would be of little use, other than to get Dru's attention. Time passed, and Sherlock was brought back from his thoughts by a loud thump down the hall, and the sound of metal creaking. As he lifted his head to see who was coming, Spike's figure appeared in the doorway.

"Comfy, Sherly? Sorry bout that.. had to get Dru outta the way first. Slipped her a sleeping pill.. She'll be out for hours." Spike whispered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a large silver key. He walked up to Sherlock's side and began unlocking the chains that had begun digging into his flesh. As they were gently removed, Sherlock's wrists and ankles stung and ached, the cold air assaulting his exposed nerves. Spike finished with the leg irons, then stood back to allow Sherlock space to stretch and stand up.

"Thanks.. Let's go." Sherlock groaned, planting his bare feet on the stone floor, worsening his discomfort. He leaned against the bed as he mustered up the strength to walk, despite his body's protests. Spike put an arm around the detective's back, supporting him as they crept towards the door.

"Oh.. Naughty, naughty Spike.. Where are you taking your gift?" Dru hissed from outside the exit, peeking into the room. Spike made a sound of disgust, then looked over to Sherlock who was staggering along with his help.

"Stay back. She gets past me, don't hesitate." Spike handed Sherlock the stake he'd concealed in his leather duster. Sherlock had no sooner stepped back towards the bed, when Spike charged at Dru, knocking her to the ground with a hard thud. There was a flurry of fists and elbows, the two vampires trading blows on the ground. Dru slipped backwards and stood up, kicking Spike in the face as she turned to run. Spike grabbed the bottom of her dress, pulling her back and throwing her to the ground. "Really didn't want to hurt you, pet.. But you're givin' me no choice." Spike sneered, then lifted Dru from the floor and threw her against the wall. Dru looked at Spike, her large brown eyes nearly tearful, then smirked. Her wicked laughter echoed through the room, a horrible cackling that sent a chill down Sherlock's spine.

"Spike.. my sweet Spike.. You thought you could fool me.. but the poppies told me.. Said you came with poison, put me to sleep. But I won this time, haven't I?" Dru hissed, then in one movement she spun herself and Spike, pinning him to the wall where she'd just been. The crazed woman yanked Spike forward and threw him back again, slamming his head against the stonework and dropping him to the floor as he fell unconscious. Turning to Sherlock, Dru smiled and tilted her head sideways. "Thought you'd get away.. Back to your teddy bears and cupcakes.." Her eyes widened as she slowly approached him. "So much like my William was.. walking in worlds others can't begin to understand.. brilliant and alone.. here with me.." Dru lunged at Sherlock and he backed away, but the pain in his ankles threw off his balance and he stumbled into the corner. She advanced again, trapping him against the walls with no real escape and no help from Spike, who was nothing more than a heap on the floor. Dru followed Sherlock's gaze, seeing a small hint of despair flash across his face as he looked at Spike. "Look here.. Look at me.. Look at me.." Dru whined, her face only inches from Sherlock. Dru pressed her fingers to his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet hers as she pushed her fingers up into his hair. "Let's have a look.." Dru closed her eyes and took in a deep, unnecessary breath through her nose as she tilted her head back a bit. Sherlock saw his opportunity and gripped the stake tightly as he rammed it into Dru's gut, sending her reeling back, wailing and howling in pain and shock. Cursing himself for not having the space to reach her heart, Sherlock lunged forward ripping the stake from Dru, then knocking her flat to the ground with a sudden sweep of his leg. Limping slightly, he rushed to Spike and lifted him from the floor, shaking him roughly as his eyelids fluttered open.

"Uh.. oww.. Dru.. Sherlock.."

"Yes. Let's go. If we don't leave now, she'll kill us both." Sherlock insisted, dragging Spike along to the door.

"No.." Spike groaned, taking the bloody stake from Sherlock and turning on his heel. As he crossed the room, Dru crawled to the bed and pulled herself to her feet, her hand covering the hole in her dress and the gaping wound beneath it. She turned just as Spike cleared the distance, and her eyes met his just as he drew back to stake her. "Goodbye, love.." He muttered, ramming the stake into her heart. It seemed like an eternity to Sherlock, watching Dru's eyes widen and her mouth open to protest, as she slowly began to dissolve into dust. Spike stared down at the pile of ash, all that was left of his old lover. He shook his head and let the stake fall from his hand, clattering to the ground as he stepped back and turned to Sherlock. "Always knew I'd be the one.. Never wanted to be.. but I knew I'd have to do it someday." He confessed as the two left the room and made their way out of the mansion.

* * *

"Its okay, John.. Spike went to get him. He'll be home soon. Promise." Dawn whispered.

John sat on the armchair, as Mycroft explained to the group everything he knew about the situation. Dawn stood beside the ex-watcher, her hand resting on his shoulder to comfort him. It had been a strange night, and things just kept getting worse. Willow had been unable to find Sherlock with a locator spell, and there hadn't been any word from Spike yet. In all honesty, what Mycroft told them was more-or-less 'business as usual', but to John, it was life-altering, earth-shattering information that he felt unwilling to digest. Mycroft finished his speech, then sat back and sipped a cup of tea, eyeing John and Giles' reactions over the brim. They were both somewhat in awe, John more-so than Giles, and both sighed.

"Dear.. oh dear lord.." Giles breathed, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

"You mean to tell me.. Sherlock.. your brother.. He's not human?" John looked up, his face contorted with confusion as he awaited Mycroft's answer.

"Not completely human, no. Part demon, to be precise. He's still much like the rest of you, but.. special. Hadn't you ever asked yourself why my brother and I are so gifted? How he can take a simple bit of commonly overlooked information and form a theory that inevitably proves to be true? How he seems to know everything you've done all day when you return to the flat? How he can't- won't- tolerate boredom for more than a few moments? He and I are very much alike, but I've used my strengths to claw my way up in the world, while he uses them to solve crimes for no pay and no recognition. Its how I obtained such a high place in the government, and at a comparatively young age, at that. No, John.. Things are not as they seem. You of all people should expect that, being an ex-watcher yourself. Or have you forgotten all you were taught?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, then sighed again. "My apologies.. You couldn't have known, really. Hardly anyone does, not even Sherlock himself."

"You've never told him? How could you not tell him?" John outraged, standing up suddenly, causing Dawn to squeak and jump back. "Why on earth would you let your brother go on so long thinking it was all observation and skill on his part, not knowing what he really is? And when.. when did you plan to tell him?"

"I assure you, it was all for his well-being. We're perfectly human by all appearances, so there was never a threat of discovery by hunters or the slayer. But to learn something of this nature.. It took years for me to fully come to terms with it after Mummy explained it all."

"So.. all the gifts, no paralysing goo or.. or.. horns and cloven hooves.. That's a good deal." Willow cheered from the couch, then looked at the bewildered and unamused faces around her. "Nevermind.. Shutting up now."

"Right. So, you see, there had been no cause to tell him until now. And he'll be told soon enough, as I expect he and the vampire will be back any time now." Mycroft glanced down at his watch, then towards the door impatiently.

"So.. umm.. How.. I mean.. what made you two like this?" Dawn said shyly from behind John.

"Our grandfather. Which is another rather long and terribly boring story for a rainy day. However, it seems I should at least give you the abridged version, so we're all on the same page here." Mycroft stood and walked over to Dawn, patting her arm. "Have a seat. It will still take a while." Dawn nodded and sat down on the couch between Willow and Melody. "Let's see.. Well, it was decades upon decades ago, and our grandmother on father's side was still very young. She was a watcher herself, you see.. But naïve.. At some point during her time as a watcher, she met a man.."

* * *

**Yes, I got this plot bunny.. and decided to run with it no matter how outlandish it may be. Sherlock being part demon.. to me, in a really twisted way, it makes sense. I mean, really.. what HUMAN do you know that can solve the most unsolvable crimes like Sherlock? O.o**

**If I've missed anything that you feel is pertinent info, please by all means, let me know! I want the next chapter to cover everything so that we can get back to the Sherlock/John fluffiness and the Spike/Dawn smoochies. Cause that's what makes the world go around. :)**


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